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... e canvas.
Blank — but not empty. It carried the weight of everything that had been said, everything that had been shown.
He sat before it, with brush in hand.
The brush felt heavier now — not in weight, but in meaning. As though it had been transformed from a simple tool into a question. One that demanded an answer. One that refused silence.
He swallowed hard.
He had no technique. No idea where to start. But something stirred deep within his chest, aching ...
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