Winter’s POV
The rain hadn’t let up by the time I found myself seated at my desk again, staring at a blank page in my journal. The memory of that night with my mother felt too raw, too close. It wasn’t something I could write about, not yet. Instead, I picked up my pen and let it wander, the ink flowing without much thought:
"We become the echoes of the storms we survive,
Resilient but rough,
Still standing, but changed.
What does it mean to weather the rain
And fear the sunlight?"
I set the pen down, closing the journal with a sigh. No matter how much I tried to pour my thoughts into poetry, they still hung heavy in the air. The shadows of my past didn’t just linger—they demanded attention, clawing at the edges of my peace.
A faint cry from Kai’s room pulled me out of my thoughts.
