EPISODE 4

Clara pushed open the door to her house, the familiar scent of her mother's cooking wafting out to greet her. "Welcome home, sweetie," her mother said, her voice warm and inviting. She was stirring a pot of something fragrant and delicious, a smile gracing her lips.

Clara smiled back, the day's events swirling in her mind. "Hi, Mom," she said, her voice a little quieter than usual. She slipped off her shoes and hung her bag on the coat rack by the door, a sense of relief washing over her.

"How was school?" her mother asked, her eyes twinkling with concern. "You seem a little quiet."

"It was fine," she said, her voice vague. "Just a normal day."

Her mother nodded, accepting her daughter's reticence. "Go ahead and get cleaned up."

Clara nodded, heading towards her room. She needed a moment to process everything, to sort through the jumble of emotions that had been swirling within her. As she peeled off her clothes, the warmth of the shower felt like a soothing balm, washing away the remnants of the day. The steam rising around her felt like a comforting embrace, a quiet refuge from the outside world.

Wrapped in a soft towel, Clara stepped out of the shower, her skin tingling with warmth. She slipped into her pajamas, a familiar comfort after a long day. She sat down on her bed, her phone buzzing in her hand. She scrolled through social media, the constant stream of images and updates a welcome distraction.

The buzzing of her phone finally lulled to a gentle hum as Clara's eyelids grew heavy. She set the phone aside, the glow of the screen fading into the darkness of her room. The day's events, once a whirlwind of emotions, now felt distant, like a dream fading with the light. She snuggled deeper into her bed, the soft sheets enveloping her like a warm hug. Sleep, a welcome respite, claimed her, pulling her into its comforting embrace.

The morning sun, streaming through her window, gently roused Clara from her slumber. She stretched languidly, the warmth of the sun a pleasant contrast to the cool morning air. Today (saturday) was a school holiday, a rare treat that promised a day of freedom and relaxation. As she sat up in bed, the events of the previous day began to re-emerge in her mind, their edges a little less sharp, the emotions a little less intense.

She got out of bed, the day stretching before her like a blank canvas. She decided to make a cup of tea, the familiar ritual a comforting start to a day of reflection. As the steam rose from her mug, swirling in the morning air, Clara took a deep breath, the scent of chamomile calming her senses. She had a feeling this day, a day of freedom and introspection, would be a good one.

Clara sipped her tea, the warm liquid soothing her throat. The aroma of chamomile filled her senses, a comforting counterpoint to the quiet hum of the morning. She glanced at the sketchbook lying open on her desk, a blank page inviting her to fill it with her imagination. The urge to create, a familiar companion, tugged at her, whispering promises of escape and expression.

She picked up a pencil, its smooth graphite gliding effortlessly across the paper. The lines began to form, tentative at first, then gaining confidence as her hand moved with a newfound ease. The world around her faded, replaced by the quiet symphony of her own thoughts and the rhythm of her pencil on paper. "Hmm...." Clara sigh.

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