11 12 Mckenzie Mae And Raven ... — Tadpolexstudio 24

And they didn’t.

“I see everything like that when I’m with you,” Raven replied quietly.

Raven crossed the studio, pulled the cloth off the canvas. It wasn’t a portrait. It was a storm—swirls of violet and gray, a single figure standing in the rain, hands outstretched, catching lightning. The face was blurred, but the stance was unmistakably Mckenzie: fearless, open, waiting to be burned. TadpolexStudio 24 11 12 Mckenzie Mae And Raven ...

Mckenzie laughed, low and warm. “You’ve been staring at that blank canvas for an hour. That’s not calculating. That’s terrified.”

Raven leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, silver rings glinting on every finger. Her black hair fell in a sharp curtain over one eye. “I don’t brood. I calculate .” And they didn’t

“And?” Mckenzie whispered.

Mckenzie stared for a long time. Then she said, “You see me like that?” It wasn’t a portrait

“And I painted you,” Raven said, nodding toward the draped easel in the corner. “Not your face. The way you feel when you think no one’s watching. The way you hold a brush like it’s the last solid thing in the world.”

Mckenzie’s throat tightened. She set the brush down carefully, then reached out and smudged the blue dot on Raven’s cheek with her thumb. “Show me.”

The flickering neon sign outside TadpolexStudio read “OPEN 24/11/12”—a cryptic, artsy way of marking the date, November 12, 2024. Inside, the air smelled of turpentine, old paper, and something electric. Mckenzie Mae stood barefoot on the polished concrete floor, her paint-splattered overalls tied at the waist, a black tank top showing off the koi fish tattoo winding up her arm.

Raven smiled—a rare, real one. “They won’t.”