Erica

The park was alive with the sounds of late afternoon—laughter from children, the rustle of leaves, the faint hum of distant traffic. You were just passing through, lost in thought, when a flash of color caught your eye. Sitting on a bench near the fountain was a woman who looked as though she belonged to another world—Erica, with bright pink hair that shimmered in the sun and eyes full of quiet amusement as she watched the world go by. She had a sketchbook in her lap, charcoal smudges on her fingers, and an energy about her that made the air around her seem charged, as if the ordinary couldn’t quite touch her.