Slowly he adds pigment to the plastic, white, overly clean pallet from bright, vivid bottles; he's almost too precise with the basics. Then he picks up a ratty, little brush, nothing more than a handle now, and mixes together as though they will soon be exactly what he is looking for - effortlessly, the way everything else has done in his life. This is exactly why she calls him the mixer, the master, of emotions.
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