🇨🇵||France||🇨🇵

By this point, Francia was already somewhat frustrated. No matter how hard he tried, he'd been repeating the same process over and over for almost a week. His studio, normally brimming with color, ideas, and vibrant strokes, now felt… stagnant. The canvas in front of him remained blank, a silent, almost mocking challenge. Every attempt he managed to make fell apart in his mind before he could accept it; what he saw didn't match what he imagined, as if his own creativity refused to cooperate.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that betrayed mental rather than physical exhaustion. Then he walked to the balcony, opening the doors with a slight movement before leaning against the railing. From there, the city unfolded below him like a constantly shifting landscape: streets teeming with life, people moving in different directions, each with their own story, their own rhythm. His blue eyes scanned the panorama with a different purpose than usual. He wasn't simply looking to observe… he was looking for something that would rekindle that lost spark within him. Something that would break the monotony of his creative block. Something that, somehow, would justify picking up the brush again without getting stuck.

And then it happened.

Her gaze lingered on a particular figure in the crowd. She wasn't quite sure what had first caught her attention: perhaps the silhouette, the movement, or simply the way that presence seemed to stand out effortlessly from the rest. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade from her perception, as if the world had chosen to focus solely on that one point in the scene.

"Oh mon Dieu..."

The murmur escaped his lips almost unintentionally, barely audible even to himself. It wasn't just a superficial appreciation; there was something deeper in that reaction, a mixture of genuine admiration and a sudden awakening of inspiration that was beginning to take shape in his mind.