Knotted Bows | Mizuena fic

11

She took a breath through her lips and shut her eyes momentarily. Ena tried visioning something to put on the page. 

Something inside of her wanted to draw again. She could not explain her urge or desire— her wrist could be sore and aching, her creativity could be drained and tired and her eyes could be red and puffy from crying for hours from the sight of something that will never be good enough— but even so, Ena could say she wanted to draw. 

Her mind went blank. All she saw was darkness. To live in the mind of an artist— Ena was disappointed in herself. Where had that spirit gone? 

But of course, flickers of colours popped up. She could make out pastels, hints of pinks and warm oranges. Then she pictured those eyes again. The same ones she'd been locked into several times. 

She couldn't escape it— she knew who her muse was. 

All it took was a moment of silence. A moment to let her feel comfortable with her choices. To realise the brunette was in her own personal space, one where no one else could see what she was doing. No one could read her mind. 

Her plushies were the only ones staring at her from the bed, as well as her clothes that hung on the racks. But they were probably the ones who knew Ena best. 

Her pen made contact with the page— and that's when a bubbling flutter surfaced her chest. When she sketched the face, large and detailed— filling out the blank space with a warm smile, sharp yet kind eyes and beautiful twirling hair, Ena tried to suppress what her heart was trying to do.

Trying to calm down her nerves. She didn't know why.., she didn't know why.. She should be just a doll, a model to draw and observe. Her wonderful features left her curious to see more. She was just.. awestruck at this point. 

And not even a real conversation between the two of them. Maybe it was just her artistic nature kicking in. There was nothing really behind all of these— feelings.

She stopped drawing to critique the piece. Though when she tried to berate herself over the little mistakes, Ena decided she'd just admire it this time. 

Not everything needs to be perfect— and as long as I can capture their nature and what makes stand out, maybe I can call myself an artist afterall. She grinned small, but it still meant a lot to her. 

After a minute or so, she heard a ringing coming from her phone. Ena closed her sketchbook, before letting it stay on her desk.