The first thing I ever saw was her thoughtful face, pondering over me. I didn't smile. I couldn't move. I barely had any life in me at all… I was so stagnant and flat. Yet somehow I was starting to live. I must have been very vivid in her brain.
The next time she drew me, I was in a much more dynamic pose. That was more like it. I could feel a personality shifting and taking form. I wondered who I was.
My hair got longer on the next page - a bit more wavey - and my eyebrows got a teensy bit sassier. My eyes were the favorite, though. She spent so long on each one, getting them just right. How thankful I was that she always sketched them first; I got to watch her draw the rest of me. Her forehead wrinkled and nose flared when she was most concentrated. She would let out sighs and little gibberish noises with her lips whenever she erased part of me. But whenever something was right, like a special flare i