"I’m Sakura," the girl said, her green eyes scanning the room. "And I know that look. It’s the one I used to have when I looked at my teammates and felt like I was always two steps behind."
As Sakura disappeared into a swirl of pink petals, Ena picked up her stylus. She didn't go back to the "perfect" sketch. Instead, she opened a new layer and began to draw with a ferocity she hadn't felt in months. The lines were jagged, the colors were clashing, and for the first time, Ena didn't care if anyone liked it. She was finally painting the truth. ena sakura
Ena jumped, nearly dropping her stylus. Sitting on the edge of her bed was a girl who looked like she’d stepped out of a different world. She wore a crimson tactical tunic and had hair the exact shade of the cherry blossoms Ena sometimes tried—and failed—to paint. "I’m Sakura," the girl said, her green eyes
"Who are you?" Ena demanded, her voice sharp with a mix of fear and annoyance. She didn't go back to the "perfect" sketch