-- standing up on shaky legs. She walked over to the painting and gently traced her fingers along the edges of the canvas. It was raw and imperfect, but it was hers—like her grief, like her hope.

There had to be someone out there who didn’t give up. Someone who wouldn’t let the world crush […]

-- that had wrapped itself around her heart. Diego’s death hadn’t been fair. And yes, the world was dark, violent, and full of people like him, and like Red Hood, who believed the only way to survive was to embrace that violence.

But that didn’t mean she had to give up. That didn’t mean she […]

-- she finally lifted her head, her eyes burning, her throat tight. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand and forced herself to look at the painting again.

It felt like a reflection of everything she was feeling—confusion, anger, fear. But it also felt like something else. Something […]

-- and corruption was useless. How long could she keep fighting before she became like him—hardened, cynical, numb?

She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face against them, her body trembling as the grief she had been holding in finally bubbled to the surface. Tears she hadn’t […]

-- violence, that everyone was worth saving.

But... was he right?

Her eyes flicked back to the painting, the colors swirling and blending into chaos. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Red Hood was wrong. He had to be.

But doubt clung to her like a weight […]

-- them all so blatantly. He'd shattered her whole world in a matter of minutes.He'd called her naive, told her this world was too broken for real justice. His brutal honesty had shaken her to her core.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the memory of his voice cutting through her, the weight of his […]

-- spilling her emotions onto it could somehow make sense of the senseless. Now, looking at it, that anger felt distant, replaced by a cold, creeping despair.

Diego was gone. And the reality that she hadn't been able to fully grasp was: maybe that was a good thing. After learning of the […]

-- made after Diego’s funeral—a violent, abstract mess of oranges and yellows and crimson strokes that seemed to bleed across the canvas.

She hadn’t touched it since that day, letting it sit there like a scar she wasn’t ready to heal, a wound she kept reopening in her mind every time she […]

Teresa sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, surrounded by the quiet, oppressive weight of her thoughts. The dim light from the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the room, and the sounds of the city felt muted, distant—almost as if the world had […]

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⠀⠀⠀Harrison "Harry" Miller is a 25-year-old veteran. after getting injured in combat and sent home, he was never the same. he left home in an RV and began traveling the country, searching for his true purpose.
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