A crisp white setting, pure as snow. Not small enough to be insignificant, not large enough to be imposing. A small hand drifts across, slowly and carefully at first, caressing the fibres of the setting and leaving a light trail in it’s wake.

There’s a dull hum nearby of varied voices and mysterious melodies, interchanging through channels. Cigarette smoke fills the air and is absorbed into the peeling paper on the walls.

Voices get louder, fists get sharper, pencils get quicker. Colours, all of the colours, fleet across the setting filling every crevice and corner until the voices and the fists… stop.

“For you” the small hand says, gifting the swirly, curly setting that is now kaleidoscopic to his protector, his defender.

Silent tears fall as the small hand is clutched by a larger hand in loving gratitude, two hearts alone as the voices, smells and fists disappear into the walls.

Pure devotion, in a world of chaos.