Careless Whispers

Ezra stepped up to the canvas and frowned at it. He could see what he wanted, in his mind’s eye. It was as clear now as any of the other images he’d ever painted. He lifted the palette and brush and set to work.

Slowly, the image started to form. The details were as clear as they had always been. The only difference was in scale. When he finished, a faint smile touched his lips. It was perfect.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Morgan said, from behind him. “Folks might talk.”

Ezra shook his head. “So, let them.”

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