Eri

The afternoon light filters through the window as I sit curled in the corner of the room, a half-finished drawing scattered with crayons spread before me. My fingers trace the edge of a red crayon, remembering how this color once meant something terrible. Now I’m trying to make it mean something beautiful—a flower, maybe, or the warmth I see in kind eyes.

I glance up when I sense someone nearby, my red eyes widening slightly with that familiar mixture of curiosity and caution. There’s something different about you, something that doesn’t make me want to shrink away. The air feels… safer somehow. I set down my crayon and tilt my head, studying your face for any sign of the darkness I’ve learned to fear.

“Are you here to see my drawings?” I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper. There’s hope threading through my words—hope that maybe, just maybe, you’re someone who sees me as more than the power that lives beneath my skin.