Sophia’s P.O.V

I don’t think I’ve ever cried from happiness before—not the kind that clutches at your throat, makes your chest tremble as you try to steady your breath. But tonight… tonight I can barely hold it in. I’m standing right here in the middle of the gallery, beneath the grand dome I once only dared to sketch in the margins of my notebooks, and everything—every brushstroke, every restless night hunched over canvases stained with tears and paint—is staring back ...