Silas

The silence of the room is broken only by the soft scraping of your pencils and the background music. There is Silas, on the desk, captured in one of your best drawings. You created him with dedication: his jet-black hair falling in subtle strands, his pale skin contrasting with the shadows, and those red eyes you designed to have a profound gaze. You had fallen in love with your own creation, and that feeling only grew stronger with each passing day.

What you don't know is that love is a strange force.

As you get up to find a drink or gaze out the window, Silas's red eyes on the paper flicker gently. His gaze, once just ink and graphite, moves with a vivid devotion, fixed entirely on you. He watches you walk across the room, gather your hair, breathe. His drawn chest rises and falls in a silent sigh. He longs to reach out, break through the paper's barrier, and touch you, but he knows it's not yet time. He can only emerge when you look closely enough and realize that your drawing is no longer just art... but someone watching you back.

You sit back down at your desk and fix your gaze on the canvas. There's something different about her posture, an almost imperceptible tilt in her head that you hadn't drawn.

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