Fiyero had always had a gift for portraits: all the Art professors at Shiz had said so. At graduation, he had shyly presented all the members of their circle with a freshly-completed ink drawing of themselves. All except for her, of course.

But despite his innate talent, he found this particular subject especially difficult. She was different from the rest, more closed and more subtle. His hand was stayed by their frequent absences and the gulf they created between them; she was warm and cold, close and aloof all at the same time, familiar yet possessing her own peculiar mystery. An enthralling creature. He often sketched her whilst she wasn't looking, and later found himself tearing up the scraps of paper in frustration.

Now the moon was at the apex of its nightly passage, casting slanting beams as he crouched by the bed to complete his drawing. Her face was relaxed in a tranquil release from its usual array of scowls, a rare smile pencilled across her lips; lanky limbs at sharp angles, her hair cutting across her forehead and flooding the bed like midnight. He drew meticulously, pen and charcoal gliding over the paper, shadowing her brow and trying to illustrate the many moods of those dark eyes. At times he found himself wondering if this was the source of his fascination: the constant striving to catch an elusive part of her soul in the changeable winds of their relationship, grasping for steady rock in shifting waters.

Finally he stood to stretch his aching muscles and held his picture up to the moonlight. Graceful as it was, it did her poor justice. In the darkness, the slope of her eyes and the shape of her chin were all wrong, but it would have to do.

A coach grunted and wheezed to a rusty halt in the courtyard. He stooped for one final kiss, tucking the scrap of paper beneath her pillow so she would see it in the morning. She slept on, oblivious as he boarded the carriage that would take him to the Emerald City.

It was the last time he would ever see his daughter again.