Jack could only gaze on her in the soft yellow lamplight--soft and supple and beautiful, that shape that drove men mad. He twirled the stub of pencil in his fingers and leaned in close, concentrating. Then he kissed the skin of her shoulder before deciding to start with something very simple.

A delicate sparrow, in flight. Clearly in flight, not falling, not falling in the slightest, no question.

With each stroke, he pressed the pencil lightly into her skin, adding in his own peculiar flourishes.