Cinnabar

2026 · Digital928 × 1232 px

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She was taught early that to be loved, she had to be seen. So she let them look. First her parents, then strangers, then a thousand faceless screens. Every glance took something small: a secret, a softness, the shape her mouth made when nobody was watching. She called it attention. It felt like warmth. The looking never stopped, though. It sank into her and stayed. She began to see herself only through other people's eyes, measuring and judging and hungry, until she couldn't find the face that was hers alone. She lifts her hands now. People mistake it for shame, but she's trying to find out what's left of her once no one is watching. The red on her fingers isn't paint. It's every name she was called and every version of herself she sold to be noticed. Behind her hands is a silence she hasn't heard since childhood. *You're looking at her too, aren't you?*

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