Pure serenity.
It was times like this when the young micronation was able to apply her full potential to her artwork; between her two elder siblings, Australia and New Zealand, usually interrupting her, what were supposed to be masterpieces turned into rushed disarrays of mismatched colors, shapes, and lines.
Today, however, the other two oceanic nations were not around, both attending a World Conference (one that she was disallowed in attending), leaving her able to finally paint something worthwhile.
To her dismay, the ideas weren't flowing easily like they normally had. The canvas in front of her mirrored her inspiration: blank. No matter how long she stared at it, as if it would paint an image itself for her, no ideas sparked her interest.
Not until she had thought of him, at least.
But could she paint him? Perhaps he were to find it one day? It would surely come off as a bit bizarre to him. She didn't want to risk their friendship over an odd, stalkerish piece of artwork... but it wasn't like any other ideas were coming so nicely to mind.
With a soft brush, Wy began to paint directly upon the canvas with a nice peach color; it was rare that she sketched paintings out beforehand. As the creamy paint rounded itself into the shape of a young boy's head, the girl couldn't help but be overloaded with a frenzy of thoughts about him, and oddly began to identify with the color choice she had picked out: it reminded her how of neutral the two were on terms with one another; purely friendship, nothing more.
But the identification didn't stop there. Mouth pursed in a tight line of concentration, the color was switched to a golden yellow, wisps and chunks of hair – and large eyebrows – forming onto the head. The yellow seemed to give off a brighter viewpoint than the peach, provoking Wy into thoughts of happiness, all of which were, again, associated with the subject of her painting: the boy's light, childish giggles that immediately followed a joke she'd tell; his ability to always find a way to cheer her up, though she refused to show it; the way he'd sometimes take her hand in his, hauling her off to show her something he'd find cool, play a game, or just talk somewhere alone.
A dash of orange was blended into the yellow, all the while Wy's elated thoughts escalated; the orange hue provoked her into thoughts of the gratuitous amounts of energy the boy frequently made her feel, though it was always hidden.
Catching herself smiling, she took a step back and turned away from her painting, absentmindedly staring out the bright window she purposely had placed her work station in front for its natural light source; she was getting much too giddy over this. A hand swiped across her forehead, brushing a few strands of brunette hair away from her face (and unknowingly getting a few drops of paint stuck in it), and she let out a long exhale before swiveling back to her art.
This time a nice blue was collected onto her brush and dabbed onto the canvas, forming bright, round eyes onto the figure (she was unsatisfied with them, however, finding that she couldn't quite catch the liveliness behind them). She kept herself from smiling this time, instead keeping a stern face as she moved on to paint bigger strokes of cerulean atop the boy's head to form a hat. Feelings of placidity overcame her; now that she took time to think about it, the other micronation did have a funny way of calming and mellowing her.
A different emotion emerged in her as she carefully placed specks of green inside his eyes that she could only see in them when she was up-close to his face: jealousy. How dare he spend more time with his wild-haired, susceptible-to-violent-trembling friend than her? Was he really that more interesting than herself? Hardly! He couldn't even hold a normal conversation without constantly adding a stutter or jitter of sorts, or without going on about how his friend's ideas were "unsafe". The kid didn't know how to have fun!
Bushy brows furrowed, Wy dipped the paintbrush into a cup of water and swirled it around a few times, green wisps spiraling off of it. The girl clenched her teeth, worked up now.
She wanted leave the painting, throw it out; it was making her much too angry now.
But it was rare that she left a piece of artwork unfinished, and, besides, there was only really one more thing to add to it.
With precision, she added a touch of pink to tint the boy's cheeks in a slight blush – a touch of pink that overall summed up her feelings: her love for Sealand.