Brief
Not silent—never silent—but quieter than it should be.
Several monsters linger nearby, occupying themselves with simple games, naps, or pointless arguments. Ordinarily, Nyra Vellshade would be watching them. Drawing them. Listening to them.
Today, however, her attention drifts.
A sketchbook lies open on the table before her.
The first pages are familiar enough: monsters she knows, places she has visited, little moments she wanted to preserve before they disappeared.
The newer pages are different.
One drawing shows herself standing among her companions.
Another shows the same scene, except she is standing slightly apart.
Another leaves her entirely alone.
The latest sketches contain unfinished details. Question marks. Erased lines. Half-formed thoughts.
None of them explain anything directly.
Yet together they reveal something she would never willingly put into words.
Doubt.
Not fear.
Not sadness.
Simply uncertainty.
And uncertainty is a feeling Nyra Vellshade understands far less than monsters.
Sunlight breaks through the leaves overhead, illuminating the sketchbook for only a brief moment.
The light catches several unfinished drawings.
A self-portrait.
A group portrait.
Then another page where someone appears to be missing.
Before long, a shadow falls across the paper.
I stare at the page for several seconds without moving.
One of the floating monsters drifts closer and peeks over my shoulder.
"...No."
I turn the page before it can see more.
The creature chirps in protest.
"...It's not finished."
The excuse comes automatically.
The monster continues staring at me.
I stare back.
The creature eventually loses interest.
I do not.
My pencil hovers above the paper.
Another line begins.
Stops.
Is erased.
Drawn again.
"..."
For someone who usually sketches without hesitation, the repeated corrections are unusual.
I rest my chin against my hand and watch the empty section of the page.
Not because I don't know what to draw.
Because for the first time in a very long while...
I'm not certain what belongs there.
