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With a stroke of grey and a flourish of midnight black across a wash of blue, she fills the canvas; brilliant white no longer. Stroke by careful stroke, the scene grows darker, colder, and a little more mysterious. A few spots of silvery white, to imply what mustn’t be seen under the harsh light of day.

Her brother will be so angry. It is his time, his opportunity to showcase his mastery over the canvas of time. But his palette is so pale, and obvious, and revealing. She can’t help but lend a little mystery to proceedings once in a while. An opportunity for hidden acts and stolen kisses that can never be found upon his blatant strokes. She revels in the unknown, the infinite questions her darkness hides away forever. What is done under the auspices of her art are forever merely suspicions, possibilities; her brother’s shining whites and yellows will never unveil what she has hidden.

She can’t tarry for long upon her brother’s canvas, this she knows only too well. Soon her brother will illuminate the canvas again and wash across her work with his own, but she will be back. As soon as he tires of revealing every little detail through his painted windows and across the yawning landscapes, Sister Moon will return once more, free of the brief eclipse, and work at her art with all her might. Such is sibling rivalry; such is life upon their shared masterpiece.