11. portrait.
"How's it going, darling?" Apollo says, smiling brighter than she'd ever thought were possible.
"Will you stop calling me that?" Rachel Elizabeth Dare pushes a few strands of red hair out of her eyes, regarding the god in front of her critically.
"Sweetheart?"
Rachel's fingers tighten on the paintbrush. "Be careful, Lord Apollo, or you may end up horribly disfigured."
Apollo glances neutrally at the back of the canvas. "Don't worry, Rachel. Even you could never mar my natural beauty."
She smiles devilishly, adding a sudden—and horribly ominous—squirt of black paint to her palette.
"We'll see about that."