The Cadenza Chief paused mid-stride, catching the tiny heartbeat of the answering machine as it clicked alive. He hit play. A soft hiss, a moment of silence—then her voice spilled into the room like someone pulling open the curtain on a warm morning.
“Hey… it’s Allysen,” she began, her tone equal parts sparkle and secret. “I think I just stumbled into another idea I can’t keep to myself.”
He leaned against the wall, listening.
“Okay, picture this,” she continued, words tumbling with that familiar, unstoppable excitement. “A kitchen piece—but not a normal one. I’m talking about capturing that wine-tasting night in Houston… the chaos, the laughter… that photographer who almost started a civil war between the winemaker and the guests? Yeah. That energy. That color. I swear the memory itself is practically begging to be painted.”
A pause. A breath. A quiet smile woven into her next sentence.
“I think she’s ready to be born. The design, I mean. I’ve been working all morning—caught the sunrise inside my living room and couldn’t let it go. Had to paint it, had to chase it.”
Her voice drifted into a soft laugh. “After that, I fell into my tablet and stayed there way too long making graphics that feel like they’re trying to escape the screen. Then I squeezed in a voiceover session. Don’t ask me how, but I think the character they gave me is going to outlive all of us.”
“And—because apparently I don’t know how to sit down—I wrapped the day modeling for Flowatree.” Another laugh, light but exhausted. “Painter at dawn, digital alchemist by noon, voice actress after lunch, runway energy by sunset. A full shift of being… me.”
The message ended with the soft click of old machinery giving up. The Chief stood there for a moment, smiling at nothing, letting the echo of her day swirl through his mind.
Of course she had an idea. Of course it would be strange, beautiful, and irresistible.
He could already see it—the colors, the shapes, the storytelling. The Allysen Collection was no longer just an idea. It was already alive.
