The paper is off-white or maybe cream. She has a steady hand. The charcoal stains her fingers as she presses against the page. It makes a gentle sound.
She looks up from the page.
She returns her gaze down, and bites her chapped lip.
She struggles to understand why she struggles to draw a completely straight line. Her hand is going where she wants it to. But the line is always sloped one way or another.