“So you have other models?” I threw my cigarette butt over the balcony while asking this.

“Well define model. If you think the weird old lady that runs the fruit stand is considered a model, then sure, I have other models.”

I chuckled, “I mean is there someone else besides me that you have more than one picture of?”

“Eh not really. I enjoy diversity. I might have more than one of my mom, but I didn’t really find out my liking for this until after she died, so they’re all from memory. She probably would’ve been a wonderful model,” she shrugged and began fading away into the other world I’m beginning to learn of Charlotte falling into. I hopped over the railings and planted my feet onto her balcony, bringing her back into this world, “Those drawings of your mother? I’d like to see them. If you don’t mind that is,” I ended my question with a pleading smile.

I knew it was a yes when Charlotte returned my smile with hers, small yet genuine.

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