"I’m Sakura," the girl said, her green eyes scanning the room. "And I know that look. It’s the one I used to have when I looked at my teammates and felt like I was always two steps behind."
Ena scoffed, turning back to her tablet. "Unless you can fix this anatomy, I don't see how you can help."
"Your 'Inner Ena,'" Sakura whispered. "I had one too. She was the part of me that was brave when I was scared, and honest when I was polite. You’re trying to suppress her because you think she’s 'ugly' or 'too much.' But in art, that’s where the power comes from." ena sakura
"Who are you?" Ena demanded, her voice sharp with a mix of fear and annoyance.
Ena jumped, nearly dropping her stylus. Sitting on the edge of her bed was a girl who looked like she’d stepped out of a different world. She wore a crimson tactical tunic and had hair the exact shade of the cherry blossoms Ena sometimes tried—and failed—to paint. "I’m Sakura," the girl said, her green eyes
For a moment, the room seemed to dissolve. Ena didn't see the messy walls of her bedroom anymore. She saw a vast, empty space w
The digital glow of the tablet was the only light in Ena’s room, a harsh white that made her tired eyes ache. She had been staring at the same sketch for hours—a portrait that felt "off," though she couldn’t find the words to describe why. On the screen, a notification popped up from a "Nightcord" chat, but she ignored it. Her frustration was a physical weight, a familiar companion that whispered she wasn't good enough. "You're overthinking the lines again." "Unless you can fix this anatomy, I don't
"No," Sakura smiled, a look of genuine recognition in her eyes. "But you have a brush. And that can be just as powerful if you stop fighting yourself."