The Silver Creek Community Center's art room smelled like tempera paint and childhood—that specific combination of paper, glue, and the faint musk of old carpet that every parent recognized. Sunlight streamed through windows facing the forest, illuminating dust motes that drifted like tiny satellites around fifteen five-year-olds bent over construction paper.
Ms. Rebecca Walsh had taught children's art classes for eleven years. She'd seen kids draw everything from anatomically impossible dinosaurs to frighteningly accurate portraits of family dysfunction. She thought she'd developed immunity to being surprised by what emerged from young minds given crayons and unsupervised creativity.
Then Luna Blackwood started drawing.
"Alright, everyone," Rebecca announced, moving between tables cluttered with supplies, "today we're doing free expression. Draw whatever makes you happy. No rules, just... create."
