I decided to take a hot bath. There was steam. Lots of steam. And there was something else.

A black figure. Blurred by a layer of hot steam. He walked a step forward. Then stopped. A figure almost ten feet tall, dressed neatly in a black cloak. With a hood hung low, covering his face.

As I was standing there, naked.

"Paint me," he said. Almost whispered.

His voice was deep. But delicate at the same time. And I could see nothing but his pale lips. Trembling.

"I'm naked." And that was what I only knew to say.

"Paint me."

Then I closed my eyes.

And I was lying on a bed. It was midnight. I sat up on my bed and thought. Was it a dream?

Was it real?

I stood up, walked toward the window and pulled the curtains together. I switched off the lights. And I'm already asleep.

I was on a grassland. The owls were howling and everything blurred. I saw the same old black figure. Standing ten feet tall. He walked a step forward. Then stop.

"Paint me," he muttured once more.

"Okay. I'll paint you."

We were in a room. He sat down on a wooden chair. I stood in front of the canvas. There was a stool beside me. With all the paint I could ever use in my whole life.

"Paint me, now." And he raised his hands. Lifted up the hood. He didn't move. Not after that.

I took a brush. Started painting. I saw his eyes. I saw a girl in his eyes. The girl, alive yet dead inside. She was holding a brush in one hand. Her eyes lifeless. She was standing in front of a canvas.

She was painting.

And she was dead.

I closed my eyes. And I found myself lying on my bed. I walked toward the window and pulled the curtains together. Switched off the lights. And slept.

I was an a grassland. He was ten feet tall. He looked strangely familiar

"Paint me," he said.