The morning sun crept through the cracks of Peony's shutters, casting streaks of light onto the wooden floor. She sat before her finished painting, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. The room smelled of oil paints and damp air, a familiar scent of creation and solitude.
She had done it. The canvas spoke louder than any words she could ever say—a world choking under its own weight, drowning in its greed and neglect. Yet, the question lingered in her mind: Would anyone care?
Peony had spent years painting in the shadows, unseen and unheard. Art, to many, was an indulgence—a decoration, a hobby for the privileged. But to her, it was a message, a warning, a reflection of the world as it truly was. She couldn't stand the polished paintings of grand halls that celebrated wealth while outside, people struggled to survive. She wanted her art to be different.
She took a deep breath and did something she had never done before—she carried the painting outside.
The streets were already awake, filled with merchants shouting prices, the scent of fresh bread mixing with the staleness of the city air. People moved past her, too busy, too distracted. But Peony wasn't seeking admiration or applause. She was looking for someone—anyone—who would stop and see.
She set the painting against a crumbling wall near the marketplace, brushing the dust from her hands. Then, she stepped back and waited.
At first, nothing happened. People walked past, barely glancing at the work. Some wrinkled their noses at the dark tones, at the disturbing portrayal of their own city. A few sneered, unimpressed by the crude strokes and lack of traditional beauty.
Then, a child stopped. A small boy, no older than ten, with dirt-streaked cheeks and wide, curious eyes. He tugged at his mother's sleeve, pointing at the painting.
"Why is the sky so dark?" he asked.
His mother looked down at him, then at the painting, her face shifting from indifference to something else—understanding.
Peony watched in silence. It wasn't applause. It wasn't fame. But it was something. Someone had seen. Someone had stopped.