I walked into the hallway of the event center—a quiet, well-lit space turned into a gallery. The whole setup gave off a raw, minimalistic vibe, but it worked. Clean white walls, polished floors, tall arched ceilings. Simple.
It was a mental health awareness event. Specifically focused on trauma, healing, and the subconscious—what Victoria always called “Pathological Therapy Expression.” Basically, people poured their minds onto canvases.
And the first thing that caught my eye?
The drawings.
The first one was dark. Black scribbles, angry strokes all across the canvas like someone tried to scratch their pain into it. In the middle, a small girl drawn in thin red lines stood alone, facing a locked door. She had no eyes. Just emptiness on her face.
The second was a mess of words, written
