You were walking. Just walking, to clear your head, to enjoy the rare moment of peace.

Your foot caught on something. Not a root, not a rock.

Something hard. Something that let out a sharp, unexpected clatter.

And then—a voice. Small, broken, like the sound of a cracked bell.

A boy lay on the ground. His skin was pale, unnaturally so, like polished porcelain. There was a crack spiderwebbing across his cheek, a deep, dark fault line in the flawless surface. His eyes were red-rimmed, rimmed with dark, messy eyeliner that was now smudged across his cheekbone. Tears—real tears—carved clean paths through the grime and dirt.