AN: So I've been reading 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde...
87. The Aesthete
"They're beautiful," said Kikyou sadly of Tsubaki's paintings.
"Of course," Tsubaki murmured. "What else should they be?"
Kikyou shrugged and went back to studying, pretending she didn't notice Tsubaki watching her still. Gentle shoulders leaned towards the book, inviting dark hair to gather about them in the muted lamplight. Tsubaki'd always envied Kikyou's beauty, and was constantly chasing to capture it – the more she painted her, the more tragically beautiful Kikyou became. Wrapping her arms around those warm, gentle shoulders, Tsubaki sighed. The moment swelled around them.
Even though they would fade and die, inside her art, they were immortal.