The room was quiet, wrapped in the soft hum of the night. A single lamp glowed on Raven's desk, casting warm light over the open sketchbook in front of her.
She leaned forward, pencil moving in uneven strokes. Pause. Erase. Try again.
Her brows pulled together.
"It doesn't look good…" she muttered under her breath.
The character on the page felt stiff, lifeless. No matter how many times she redrew the eyes, something was always off.
The door creaked open gently.
Mia stepped inside.
Raven glanced up, and almost instantly, her mood shifted. Without thinking, she turned the sketchbook toward her, holding it out with a small, expectant look, like a child waiting for approval.
Mia walked closer and looked at the page.
"It is good," she said, smiling.
Her voice was soft. The smile was there… but faintly melancholic, as if her thoughts were somewhere else.
Raven studied her face for a second, then looked back at the drawing.
