Sakura — Ena

Sakura walked over, leaning over Ena’s shoulder. "It’s not the anatomy. It’s the spirit. You’re drawing what you think people want to see, not what you actually feel." Sakura reached out, her hand glowing with a soft, green light—the color of healing chakra . She didn't touch the tablet; instead, she placed a hand on Ena’s shoulder.

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." ena sakura

"Who are you?" Ena demanded, her voice sharp with a mix of fear and annoyance. Sakura walked over, leaning over Ena’s shoulder

"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." You’re drawing what you think people want to

As Sakura disappeared into a swirl of pink petals, Ena picked up her stylus. She didn't go back to the "perfect" sketch. Instead, she opened a new layer and began to draw with a ferocity she hadn't felt in months. The lines were jagged, the colors were clashing, and for the first time, Ena didn't care if anyone liked it. She was finally painting the truth.

Ena scoffed, turning back to her tablet. "Unless you can fix this anatomy, I don't see how you can help."