I stumbled back into my room, absolutely drained.
The Weaver was there, waiting for me. She sat at my desk, and was writing something. I walked over to her and put my arms around her from behind.
I kissed her neck.
"Hello," I said.
"Mmm…hi." She pressed herself against me.
"What are you doing?" I asked, looking at the scattered papers on my desk.
"Sketching. I loved to do it when I was mortal, but it's fallen by the wayside over the years."
"May I?" I asked, reaching for one of her completed works.
"Go ahead." She said, "I'd like to know what you think."
It was a portrait of a man, with long hair tied with a hairband. His face was familiar, his eyes a dead giveaway.
She had drawn me.
I studied the sketch a little more and handed it back to her. "I love it," I said. "But you think too highly of me, I'm nowhere near that handsome."
