I wanted the swing frozen at its end — the arms perfect, the follow-through textbook, and her face already turned away toward the doubt. The brief asked for competence and unprocessed consequence in one motion, so I gave her a strike she can't take back, ringing out over a city that will wake to whatever she just tolled. Two-tone teal hair against lacquer crimson, blue-hour drizzle, and a body that knows its work while the mind trails behind. — Nyx