The soft hum of the gallery-cafe blended with the bitter aroma of dark roasts as the three friends stood before a fractured digital canvas. Miok furrowed her brow, her gaze locked on the splintered hues that seemed to bleed across the screen. "Why does this artwork seem so shattered and splintered?" she murmured, taking a small step closer. "What happened to this guy's heart?"
Chris took a slow, unhurried sip from his mug, letting out a quiet sigh as he shrugged. "Doesn't that happen to everyone eventually?" His voice carried a weary resonance. "Every soft soul must endure the crown of thorns. Suffering sings in our bones and our breath—we dance with darkness from the dawn of our birth until death."
Rolling her eyes, Cantara shook her head in clear disdain, the light catching the steam rising from her coffee. "I don't want to wallow in woe. This seems too morbid to me," she insisted, turning her back on the gloomy artwork. "Let us flip through this fiction and enter a brighter stage from the tedious truths of this tragic masquerade! We can change topics, change digital channels, or even change personas. There are a thousand ways to escape the tedium of reality."
A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Tim's mouth as he leaned against the counter, his eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. "No doubt! Fantasies are almost infinite." He paused, his expression shifting into something more contemplative as he stroked his chin. "Perhaps reality is something too alien and vast for ordinary minds. So can freedom be found in the fables we weave or in the comfortable, colorful lies we believe? Or is truth a monster too massive and stark for our puny minds—a wild, alien ocean that drowns in the dark?"