By sunrise, the facade stitched itself back together—fragile but convincing.
And so, that was how the days passed.
Day in, day out, she would practise with Kesha, learning how best she could fool everyone—herself included. She always carried that smile, that joy, that great happiness of being with family, but it was a pain to keep it all bottled up. She feared the pity she would receive, how they wouldn't be able to act naturally around her, how they would consider her blindness before doing anything, and worst of all, the pain it would put them through.
As always, laughter faded, footsteps died, and the lands grew still. Only then could she drop the mask.
Kesha would always arrive on time, helping her map out movements and calculate precise positions based on sound only and vibrations.
She learned to differentiate people by the way they breathed, how heavy their steps were, and which foot they mostly rested on.
