Sera’s pov:
I didn’t sit down with a plan to paint.
I only remember finding myself in front of the blank canvas, my brush already dripping with wet paint. The room was deathly quiet. It's been days since Damien left. I don’t count the time by the sun or my meals anymore; I count it by the weight of waiting. Waiting for news that never comes. Waiting for the sound of his boots in the hall. Waiting for this nameless terror to stop clawing at my chest.
Before I could even think, my hands started to move.
I went for the blue first. It wasn't a pretty, sky-blue. It was a deep, bruised, angry shade that bled across the white fabric like dark water swallowing something whole. My wrist started to ache as I pulled the brush in long strokes. I layered dark over light, creating shadows that felt
