chapter 119 - stirrings of hope

Stella

Butterflies swirled anxiously in my belly as I wandered the penthouse wrapped in Lawrence's crisp white shirt, hair still damp from the shower.

Today was judgment day for the art contest. Had my entries captured the "glimpse of humanity" theme adequately to impress the exclusive panel of critics?

I had channeled plenty raw emotion into the paintings - from delight in mother-daughter bonds to empathy for neglected strays like dear Fluffy. But technical mastery still eluded me. What if stark honesty alone proved insufficient next to classically honed pieces?

Glancing at the bold canvas of the homeless kitten that felt most vulnerable, I gnawed my lip. Perhaps entering the contest had been foolish ambition.

I was no professional after all, just dabbling amateur hastily mentored. Still, Andre and Lawrence both insisted my unique perspective deserved wider audience. With more guidance I might someday forge impactful stories from life's poignancy...

Speak of the devil - warm arms