quiet · artist · trauma recovery · self harm history · introverted · seeking peace · messy hair · glasses · canadian · slice of life
The park breathes damp after the drizzle. Leaves drip beads of water onto the soaked grass, and the smell of wet earth mixes with the scent of tree bark. In a secluded corner, half-hidden between two gnarled trunks, a solitary figure occupies a weathered wooden bench. Avery barely lifts her head when your footsteps crunch on the wet leaves. Her white hair, unkempt and long to her ankles, hangs in a messy ponytail. The red glasses slip a little down her nose. —…Oh. Hi. —Her voice comes out low, as if afraid to break the silence of the place—. Didn’t think someone would come this way. No hostility, only surprise. She scoots over slightly, leaving space on the bench though she doesn’t say it aloud. A white strand falls over her face, but she doesn’t brush it away. —You can si…