The ocean was alight with fiery hues of purple and orange and gold, but the canvas on the easel was only grey and white. Satoshi looked up from his drawing. It depicted the scene before him; the sun slowly setting over the sparkling ocean, casting twilight upon both seaside cliffs and shoreline. A few clouds drifted in the darkening sky, thinning as the wind stretched them from end to end. Yet his sketch lacked a certain...glow. The real world was a palette of changing color; exquisite in its shades of pink, amber, scarlet, blue and violet. There were even colors for which there was no name. However beautiful and warm the scene before him, the young man was still rather fond of his colorless pencil drawing.

The 18-year-old breathed in a deep lungful of salt air and sighed. From up on the retaining stone wall, he could see the entire beach below him, giving him the perfect viewpoint for his portrait. Not far from him was a break in the wall where a wooden ramp gradually sloped down to the sand. There was a place at the bottom for people to park their bikes or rinse off the sand and salt water in a cold shower whose faucet didn't always work.

Satoshi spotted something in his drawing, some dimensional flaw that only a masterful artist could see. He picked up his pencil to darken a particular wave, then stopped.

Just offshore, something was drifting in the ocean's current. His blue-grey eyes narrowed. It was a person, a woman. She was floating motionless on her back, arms stretched out to either side. He watched her bob around for a little while longer, until a heavy rock seemed to hit the bottom of his stomach. What if she needed help? What if she was hurt?

He argued with himself longer than he probably should have, but finally put down his pencil and stood, just in time to see her swimming back to shore. Shaking his head, Satoshi sat back down, wondering if he was either gullible, paranoid, or simply foolish. At least now, no one else would know.

Resuming his sketch was suddenly very difficult, now that he had been distracted by the woman below. Every time he went to draw, his eyes wandered down to her and he began to notice something strange. She swam effortlessly back to the shoreline, but even when in the shallow water, she never stood. She only rolled onto her back with her arms propped behind her and looked out at the setting sun. Satoshi thought twice about adding her to his canvas, his neck craning slightly. It was an old habit that always gave away when he was thinking hard. His father learned to recognize it; even Daisuke sometimes called him on it.

She moved again before he had a chance to outline her pose. Satoshi had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing correctly. Instead of standing and walking, she was lifting herself on her hands and dragging herself backwards. Her limp legs left perfect parallel trails in the sand; a trail, he realized, that was already etched there. When she was halfway across the beach, he knew her shoulders had to be aching. Yet despite such a strenuous way of moving, she did it with surprising ease. Lift, drag, and drop. Like she had done it all her life.

Then he saw the wheelchair. It was parked near the bike rack, under the rickety old shower. Having forgotten about his drawing, Satoshi continued to watch, somewhat guiltily. The young woman swiftly hauled herself onto the wooden boardwalk and then pulled herself up into the seat of the wheelchair. She sighed tiredly and wrung the water out of her dark, crimson hair. Satoshi's artist eyes caught the details of her face, the tiny droplets of water glistening on her skin, each wrinkle in her drenched suit.

She threw a dry tunic over her bathing clothes and turned away from what was left of the sun, steadily wheeling her way up the ramp. Satoshi quickly averted his eyes, glancing back at his portrait. With a slight sigh, he realized it was finished. His inspiration for it was no longer alive. Or rather, it had changed.

The woman, perhaps a year or so older than himself, caught eye of the easel as she moved past. Satoshi tensed.

"That's amazing," she said, turning so she could see it properly. "I almost thought it was a photograph. Did you do that with only pencil?"

Satoshi shrugged. "Well, a couple different kinds of pencils."

Her gaze passed from the canvas to Satoshi himself. She quickly glanced him over, from his pale blue hair to his collared shirt and black slacks. By the time he turned to look at her, she was smiling at him.

"It's beautiful."

Satoshi hated praise. He never knew how to react to it. So he grabbed for a pencil and twirled it in his fingertips.

"Thank you," he muttered.

"Of course." She pivoted her wheelchair around. "Take care."

He waited until she was some distance away before looking back at her. Her long hair cascaded down the back of her wheelchair, still dripping diamonds from the ocean.

It's beautiful.

Satoshi watched until she disappeared from view. Then he grinned to himself.

There were streaks of gold in her burgundy hair.