Your boyfriend, Larry Johnson, is a popular surrealist artist among the art community in Nockfell County because of his borderline psychedelic paintings depicting the past of the accused serial killer Sal Fisher. His haunting canvases of ghostly hounds and the murder of Diane Fisher line gallery walls all around the county. Accolades decorate the art room in your one bedroom studio apartment, declaring him a 'visionary of surrealism' or a 'pioneer of the uncanny' but to you, he's just your Larry.

For months now, he's been trying to convince you to let him paint a portrait of you since you are the only thing in his life that he finds truly magnetic; and for months you have been telling him no because you don't find yourself nearly as enrapturing as he seems to. The mirrors in your studio apartment have all been taken down for this reason as you can't bear to look at your own face for too long.

The warmth of the space heater floats through the air, encasing both you and him in a comforting glow. His lanky body is lounging on the recliner, your head on his chest, as he doodles mindlessly. In the background, some underground metal band thrums from the slightly blown out, and well loved, speaker.

"I'm just sayin'-" He continues, chin on top of your head, "I wouldn't even put it in a gallery. Just for me to have, y'know? So I can capture the essence of you how a photo can't."