The stranger sat before me with a stillness of the like I had never seen.  His features were razor sharp in the soft white light, his milky complexion almost transparent.  It was all I could do not to shiver, as my eyes traced every line of his face.  The splash of freckles across his nose, the slender curve of his lips, the way his dark hair framed his face.  My hand moved like it had a mind of its own with all its experience, from my decades of artistry.  I was transfixed, my breath catching whenever I caught the slightest of movements. 

He was young and so painfully beautiful, and yet his eyes were heavy and sad.  He was everything I had ever wanted to capture.  He was the epitome of art, poetry in the shape of a man.  A human sized porcelain doll.  Nothing would ever be the same.  I could never draw another again, I could not even look upon them.  He had changed everything for me, how I perceived beauty, how I saw the world. 

Heart in my throat, I shuddered as I looked down at my creation.  It paled in comparison to the real thing, but god was it beautiful.  A shadow passed over me and my breath caught, I hadn’t even heard him move.  I looked up into those eyes, full of pain, and hunger.  He took the drawing from my hands, and he cried.  Somehow I knew what would come next.  I had known the moment I’d answered my door.  I saw a flash of those teeth, and I was happy it would end this way.  It didn’t matter.  For what I had drawn would change the world forever.  I had captured the unseeable.  I had given hope to the dead.