I stole a few moments this sunrise thinking of you. When I was a child, I passed the time drawing. I picked up the skill from my mother. I’ve enclosed the view of sunrise from my chambers. You’ll see the way the two suns edge the peaks in amber and violet. It is beautiful—but it will never compare to you.
You said you painted the sunrise.
Show me.
—Orion
Orion,
Wow, can you lay it on thick. Guys at bars could get a month’s worth of pickup lines just from that single letter you sent me. And you say you don’t know poetry.
You have to know I’m not that girl. I don’t do casual sex. I have to get to know someone before I can sleep with them. Even though the last couple relationships I’ve been in, the men told me lies. And now I’m talking to a fairy—sorry, faekind prince who lives in another realm and wants to worship my body under two suns. That definitely gave me something to think about.
My heart has been skipping beats all day. So that’s our bond? Is it because you have two hearts? It’s wild just writing that sentence.
I received your drawing. I’ll admit it, I wasn’t expecting it to be so breathtaking. You’ve got a real eye. There’s movement and light in your work, like the suns are mid-conversation and the moons are eavesdropping. It’s alive in a way that makes my fingers itch to paint it.
Do you have art galleries on your planet? Art galleries are places where people wander around and look at art created by others. In my world it’s a place where people pretend to understand the difference between impressionism and expressionism while secretly just picking their favorite images based on color.
I’m asking because I’ve just sent off a piece to a gallery here. If they accept my piece, it’ll be my first real showing. A big step in my career.
I’ve always felt like the odd one out in my family. My mom’s an engineer. My dad’s an astronomer. My aunt’s a world-renowned heart surgeon. My cousin practically runs Silicon Valley. Oh, you probably don’t know what that means. Imagine a kingdom made entirely of glass buildings and caffeine, where everyone speaks in ones and zeros and trades in ideas instead of currency. It’s not actually a valley of silicon—that’s just the tech stuff they use. Honestly, I don’t think I’m smart enough to explain it properly. Just know it means she makes an obscene amount of money and plays into the notion that wearing hoodies to billion-dollar meetings is normal. But she would never be caught dead without heels and a tailored dress.
And then there’s me, the girl who wanted to draw stick figures and glue leaves onto canvases. I’ve spent most of my life feeling like the black sheep. So sheep are four-legged animals. Most of them are white. So when you get a black one, it really stands out.
All that to say that I’m the family disappointment. My mom doesn’t say it outright, but I can feel it in the way she tilts her head when I talk about my work. Like she’s trying to figure out how to rewire me into something more productive.
My dad’s different. He’s always said I see things others miss. He used to tell me that brilliance comes in many forms, and mine just happens to use color.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I guess if I can’t tell my secrets to my supposed fated mate, who can I tell?
If the gallery doesn’t accept my piece, maybe I’ll come to you after all. I won’t have anything better to do, and being a princess of another world sounds more impressive than being the family failure. Maybe that will finally make my mother proud.
Instead of telling you what I look like, I’ve included a self-portrait. I’ve made it as flattering as possible. I might’ve shaved off a pound, or two, or more. And my hair isn’t that full and vibrant. I might’ve made my eyes more symmetrical than they actually are. But I think I captured my smile just right. My friend Liberty always tells me that’s my best feature. She says it’s the reason she decided to be my friend, because I have a welcoming smile. Anyway, I hope you’re not disappointed by what I look like.
I don’t really have any other hobbies. My work consumes me too. I create art all day. Or I think about my next piece. Or I go out walking and look at the world around me for inspiration. Your picture gave me a whole new world of inspiration. Those colors are out of this world. I suppose because you’re from another world. I really enjoyed looking at it.
Will you send me another?
~Dani
Stardust,
Your portrait—I don’t have the words.
I’ve studied your likeness a hundred times since it arrived. At first in wonder. Then in longing. Then in awe. You’ve captured something I didn’t think could be rendered with pigment and parchment.
I see your spirit in the lines you drew.
I see your strength in the sharpness of your gaze, your humor in the curve of your mouth.
I see your compassion in the shading around your eyes.
Your friend is right. You have a welcoming smile. It makes me feel seen, even though I am the one looking.
I would prefer if you did not go to a bar to have a man pick you up. From now on, I will be the one lifting you over bars. I will use more than my words to accomplish this.
I promised you another drawing. Enclosed is one of me, though I make no claim to having captured myself as you did. I have never enjoyed being the subject of an artist’s gaze. I was raised to be an observer—of my people, of politics, of war and peace. But for you, I stood still and reflected upon my image in a mirror.
