There it is, blowing in the wind and slipping through the cracks of the doors. The purple glow lands gently upon my desk. I blink twice to understand what I see. No, not a falling leaf. It is a fella, smartly dressed and decorated. He fixes his coat, almost displeased that the little illusory drumrolls I play are not a call to action but a mere call for his attention. “Hello, sir! This painting on the leaf, it is you, isn’t it? I attempted to capture your likeness in my own painting. Not as impressionistic as yours, but I hoped I came close.” He takes my gift, quite impressed that I had painted it on a tiny canvas.
“She’s going to like this,” he says with a cheeky smile. He slaps his forehead as if remembering something, “Oh, shoot! I must find my way home! Will you help me?”