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Chapter 131 - 130: Art Is Not Perfection
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... not because it lacked detail, but because it refused closure. It hovered on the edge of becoming, like a breath held too long.
Degas crouched beside him, dragging the edge of a pastel across the floor again, leaving a faint crescent of lavender dust.
"In your world, you praise perfection," he said, almost absently. "Flawless timing. Flawless skin. Flawless moves."
He tapped the sketch.
"But flaw is where the soul shows through, where it truly shines."
He ...
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