Late Morning

Elena's POV

Elena sat cross-legged on the floor of the sunlit art room, a blank canvas before her and Emma beside her, carefully mimicking the strokes she saw Elena make.

She held the brush loosely, trying to focus on painting the flowers in front of her, but her hand felt heavier than usual.

She paused, letting the brush hover over the canvas. It was as if her body was conspiring against her, refusing to obey the gentle commands she gave it.

A flicker of worry pricked her, but she brushed it aside.

She ignored it at first, thinking it was just fatigue. The medications had always left her...