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Then she turned a page and drew in her breath involuntarily. It was the self-portrait she had drawn: looking directly at the artist.
She had the haunted expression she remembered so well, before she knew what she was -- when she still thought there must be something wrong with her. (3/5) #wss366

He always wanted her to sketch some classic still-life topic, like a draped cloth or a bottle. But she had refused. She smiled at the memory.
She continued to #turn pages. There was the run-down shed in the formal garden. And the intricate and twisted branches of the Camperdown elm. (2/5) #wss366

Later, Cecelia looked through her old art notebook. The earliest sketches were all flowers from the greenhouse at Aspidelle Manor. She had begun drawing in winter. There was a Camellia blossom, a raceme of orchids, and forced bulbs. She still remembered her tutor's exasperation. (1/5) #wss366

If you miss living in a country of laws, remember that anyone who is not cis-het and white has always known that we have never lived in a country of laws.

"What do you mean?" Kasseh said. "These are amazing!"
"It was a long time ago. I couldn't do that today."
"That doesn't matter," Kasseh said. "If you practiced again, it would come back. Just like with me and cooking!" She grinned, handed Cecelia a serving spoon, and took her seat. (5/5) #wss366

Inside, she found old sketches that she had made when studying studio drawing years before. She flipped through a few pages, recollecting.
"I didn't know you could #draw," Kasseh said. looking over her shoulder.
"I can't," Cecelia said, hurriedly closing the notebook. "Not really." (4/5) #wss366

She was tempted to take it and throw it into the trash unopened.
"It feels like a book," Kasseh said, from the kitchen, with her back turned. As if reading her mind, she continued, "See what it is first."
With misgivings, Cecelia unwrapped the parcel. It was an old notebook. (3/5) #wss366

When Cecelia went to sit down, she found a parcel on her seat. It was unassuming, wrapped in brown paper.
"What's this?"
"It arrived in the post for you today," Kasseh said.
Cecelia looked at it and, recognizing the handwriting, had a sudden visceral reaction. It was from her mother. (2/5) #wss366.

Cecelia entered and found Kasseh's workshop already dark. She climbed the stairs to their tiny apartment and found Kasseh setting the table.
"Did you fix dinner?" Cecelia asked. "That's a surprise."
"I finished the piece I was working on," Kasseh said, bringing out serving dishes. (1/5) #wss366

"It was the darkest of dark nights, filled with the black sounds of night creatures. Darkly they squeaked, roared, and howled according to their individual dark natures. Did I mention it was dark?"
"Well, at least I don't need to worry about toilet paper," the editor thought darkly. (3/3) #wss366

"Oh, no," he groaned. "No, no, no! Not this guy again. Does he have no #regard for propriety?"
He reached back in desperately and felt around again, but there was nothing else. Finally, heaving a huge sigh, he read the first line of the manuscript. (2/3) #wss366

The managing editor went into the bathroom, lowered his trousers, and took a seat. He reached into the shelves next to the toilet, feeling around for a magazine or catalog. Nothing. But his hand encountered something unexpected. He pulled it out. It was a nicely formatted manuscript. (1/3) #wss366