His breathing and expression were calm, but his eyes were full of emotions, struggling to break free from his clutches. I reached out toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder, as if my touch were a needle that burst his bubble. He suddenly jolted at my touch; realizing it was me, his eyes softened for a second before drowning once again in their glistening golden hue. After a prolonged silence, he finally broke the quietude with words that carried the weight of his solitude: "I'm sorry—" his voice trembled as he uttered those words. All I could see was red in his eyes—was it merely a reflection from the pool of blood on the floor, or the true colors he had never shown me before?

olyvve (Illustrator, cover photo artist)


Chapter 18 - Credentials