"All that is corrupt will infest the most resilient of souls when love and beauty are no longer sincere."
Ziyal had this quote bouncing in her head like trapped electrons for some time. 'Charcoal, she needed charcoal'. It had been a few years since she descended into such depths. 'Silhouette, outline, now the soul.' Garak had become somewhat of a rock to hold onto, an anchor for stability and inspiration to keep living even in spite. Incidentally, there is also the disruption of peace and innocence when clinging to survival.
Her "anchor" was now gone and likely dead. Her plead for him not to go was not out of some desire to control him but a desperate attempt to prevent further heartache. Heartache she made such effort to supress. Heartache, where she drew her knowledge of vile deceit from the world. 'His broad chest. Try not to make it too broad'.
Cardassian genes had their use. The mixing of Bajoran and Cardassian blood was a biological marvel. Sure, there was a fair population of hybrids but the physiological differences between the two races was a genesis for a new breed. Though born out of war, refinement and grace were the key traits that had the potential to spur them into their own niche into a place within the political realm of the Alpha Quadrant that was higher than expendable. Ziyal had 20 years of experience in this established order. Her kind were considered the riffraff and shame of proper society. She and Garak had this in common, being the hated minority aboard DS9, under constant threat of confrontation because of the spoons upon their brows. 'His is so prominent'.
She missed him. Perhaps it was voice that drew her in or being mesmerized while he worked on various outfits for various races. 'Only a few can pull off beige.' Ziyal took comfort in the order he commanded of his space. Handsome blue eyes that lit her imagination, enhancing her admiration. Many moments she had sacrificed, fantasizing those eyes gazing at her with the same affection she longed to give him. She suddenly realized just how reliant on him she had become and paused on the second eye like something had burned her hand. 'Does he feel NOTHING for me?'. This was why she chose charcoal. The subject wasn't whimsical enough to be watercolor. Dark shadows, bold yet hazy, charcoal was perfect.