Not meant to exist.

The stylus swept across glass. Strokes lay unconnected — scattered marks that did not speak the same language.

Time revealed cohesion within chaos. The fragments assembled. Negative space tightened.

A profile emerged from the aftermath.

Her gaze does not plead. It does not search. She speaks in angles rather than curves.

She was always there, hidden in the fragments.

She only needed to be seen.