Champagne Problems

The trouble with painting en plain air is always the light, and though Ignatius always did his best to account for change, he never much cared to think about the sunset. Inevitably, he would stay longer than anticipated, stiff and sat there at an easel planted delicately in the ground, finally looking beyond the thing he was painting to notice he’d soon lose all the light he might need to carry on.

Such was the case that evening, as the sun set quietly around him before he realized he ought to be heading back inside, thinking of something to eat, or preparing to lie down. As the darkness was setting in quickly, he called Alexandria out of her pokeball to accompany him. She could provide some light if needed, after all.

As Ignatius began to put his things away, however, he realized that not only had the light gone, but someone was looking at his canvas. Half finished, strokes here and there, a vague outline of hat it might intend to be, though pieces of it seemed much clearer and presented, as though it faded out from a picture into blankness as you gazed from one corner to another.