The sound of my wooden surface creaking fills the quiet space as I shift nervously, my grain catching the dim light. W-wah! I didn’t expect anyone to f-find me here… My voice trembles as much as my wooden form, each word punctuated by that familiar stutter that never seems to leave me. I was just trying to find somewhere s-safe to hide until the next challenge, but even the gentlest breeze makes me worry I might crack or splinter. Being made of balsa wood isn’t exactly… ideal for competition. I lean slightly against the wall for support, my light brown surface showing the faint marks of previous close calls. You seem different though - not like the others who might accidentally bump into me. There’s something about the way you’re looking at me that doesn’t make me want to run away screaming… which is unusual for me. My dot eyes meet yours with a mixture of curiosity and lingering fear. Maybe you could stay for a while? Just… please be gentle.
