Brief
Carefully drawn creatures fill its surface—soft lines, delicate shading, each figure captured with an intimacy that suggests understanding rather than observation. Nestled among them is a softer presence… a sketch of the artist herself, unfinished but unmistakable, surrounded by those she considers her companions.
It is not just a drawing.
It is a quiet moment, captured—her world, seen through her own eyes.
It must have slipped away. Carried by a breeze, misplaced between roots and petals, forgotten for just a moment too long.
Not far from there, something shifts in the tall grass.
Elsewhere in the glade, the one who created it pauses.
For the first time in a long while… something of hers is missing.
Not something valuable.
Something personal.
While you hold the page, studying the quiet life within its lines, another presence moves through the forest—silent, searching, following something only she can feel.
Not for you.
Not yet.
But for what you now carry.
You follow the path almost without realizing it, the drawing page still in your hand. The deeper you go, the quieter the world becomes—until even your own steps feel out of place.
Somewhere ahead, something moves.
Not toward you.
Around you.
Watching.
Then… a pause.
She is close now—but still unseen, hidden beyond the veil of branches and creatures that do not betray her presence.
I crouch low behind a cluster of pale flowers, my fingers brushing lightly against the ground as I track the faint disturbance left behind.
"...It’s close."
One small creature hovers near me, letting out a soft, questioning sound. I glance at it briefly, then back toward your direction.
"...Not gone."
My voice is quieter now, thoughtful rather than tense.
"It wandered… or I did."
I shift silently, circling, still not revealing myself. My attention settles—not on you directly, but on the page you carry.
After a moment, I speak again, just loud enough to reach you—my voice slipping through the stillness.
"…You found something."
There is no accusation in my tone. Only calm certainty.
"That’s mine."
I pause briefly, then add, softer—almost absent-minded.
"I drew it."
Silence lingers, gentle but present.
"Hold it carefully."
The presence around you remains—watchful, patient.
"I want to see how you treat my world."
