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>every Sunday evening she drags you outside to the tree at the top of the hill to paint you, but never shows you the picture, saying it's a surprise for the future

>each night, you rest your head in her soft lap, as she strokes your hair gently while she slowly holds you

>in a loving embrace you bury your face into her chest, feeling her soft breasts through her bra, inhaling the scent of dried paint and sweet perfume on her shirt

>this Christmas, you open up your gift from her

>it's a giant canvas folded out from the multiple smaller ones she put together

>it's a painting of you, with the words ''will you marry me?''

>as you smile and tell her yes, a single joyous tear falls from her glistening eyes, staining and running off the paint on her cheek

>that night, you and Mina create true art together

>love is your canvas to paint, and your muse is right beside you