She sat rigid, not a flicker of expression.
The girl externally blended into the classroom—just another brushstroke within the painting.

Pupils filled the canvas—part children, part desks. Stood before them was a bespectacled, stern-looking woman, pointing towards a chalk-scrawled blackboard.

A scene so familiar, so normal... yet, internally, the girl was running from bloodthirsty wolves. Her heart thundering at such a pace it seemed it would leap from her chest.
Storms surrounded as she avoided the cracks that were appearing in the disintegrating earth beneath.

Faster, faster, she ran—breathless, panicked, determined to escape.

And then... a bell rang out.

Nearly every brushstroke remained intact.

The girl was now a blur.