At dawn, she opened a new canvas. White. Blinking. She hovered the brush.

Hours vanished. The clock on her wall ticked past midnight, then 2 a.m. She painted a girl falling through a starry sky, but the girl wasn't scared. The girl had a stylus in her hand. Below her, a canvas stretched like a trampoline.

She drew a line. It was ugly. Jagged. Wrong.

She drew the first line of something new.