The grip was firm, the tension thick. A forced smile, a frozen stare—this wasn’t just a threat; it was a performance. The air felt staged, like someone unseen was watching, waiting. The silent figure between them bore witness, unmoving, unnatural. The background, worn and forgotten, whispered of past horrors. “Smile for the camera,” a voice seemed to say, though no flash ever came. Whether this was the beginning or the end didn’t matter. The show had already begun.
Illustration drawn in procreate by Dehiscence, April 2025.
