The bare foot of her half-painted self poked out from underneath her skirt. It was about the size of her open hand. She stepped closer to stare at it, at each of her toes painstakingly rendered in such detail—she turned to look at his palette and saw the mess of it; the mixed colors taking up every inch of the wide wooden surface, the brushes still scattered around it, some so fine they might only hold just one short hair.