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Placed high up in the sky, the moon shone down at Cristina as she sat with her legs dangling in the skating bowl in the skatepark. Stars littered the sky and she tried her best to replicate their detail as she sketched in the diary she'd received as a birthday gift from her sister when she turned seven—originally meant for her to write her innermost thoughts now serving a different purpose altogether.
Cristina was never good at writing or talking about what she thought or felt. Perhaps it came from the emotional abuse she suffered at the hands of her mother, or maybe it was a talent she was simply just born without. Cristina didn't care about that though. She was blessed with a skill she found much more valuable.
Painting was Cristina's passion and had been for as long as she could remember. Sure, she was fairly talented with a pen and a paper too, but there was nothing that came even close to the feeling she got when mixing the colors together on a canvas and creating something truly beautiful and unique. In a way, she spoke through her painting.
She put her heart and soul into creating them and didn't stop until they were perfect. Not a single detail was ever out of place, not a single shadow or flicker of light anywhere else than precisely where it was supposed to be. And should it occur that a pedal on a flower was out of place, the whole painting would be thrown out, no matter the amount of time she'd spent on it.
Theodore was worried, and rightfully so. The expectations she had for herself were out of reach, and that broke her slowly from within. Each painting that wasn't up to her standards chipped away at her self-esteem until there was nothing left. And it didn't matter if anyone told her how incredible the paintings were. If Cristina had decided something wasn't perfect, it never would be.
This is why Declan often accompanied her to the skatepark when she required a peaceful evening where she could find the inspiration needed to sketch out her next work. This night, in particular, the stars had captured her interest, and there was nothing - not even the regular groans from Declan when he fell on his ass in the skating bowl, his skateboard clattering away - that could pull her attention away.
At least until another skater arrived, his board gripped tightly between his fingers.
Cristina observed him curiously, her interest peaked. The drawing was unfinished and forgotten in her lap. Something was intriguing about him, about how he didn't seem to care there were people - well, Declan - already in the skating bowl when he approached.
It was strange, especially since Declan usually chose to skate alone, far away from others. Cristina knew it was because he was insecure about his skill, not that he needed to be and not that he would ever admit it. So it wasn't a surprise when he climbed out of the bowl, board in hand and ready to move.
"I'm, uh, going to skate on the ramps instead. My hands are pretty sore." Declan said, his breaths uneven from the strain of skating without stopping for a couple of hours.
