Art was always the best therapy for them. The news was distressing, to say the least; Soleil had always looked up to Dr. Gilchrist, listened to his advice -- who would want to murder an old man? Their thoughts were speeding through their head like a bullet train. That’s why they chose to distract themself in the garden, a canvas set up, blue and pink paints on a palette to work from.
They didn’t exactly take comfort in their solitude, but they knew that everyone was coping differently; it wasn’t their place to intrude on others’ mourning processes. That’s why they were practically in their own world, unsure of how much time had passed since they set up the canvas, until someone’s voice pulled them out of their focus.
“I’m sorry - could you repeat that?” They wouldn’t admit that they were grateful for the distraction, but it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was a mundane conversation.















