A lonely knight stands against a deep red background, the color spreading behind him like a restless sky at dusk. He looks so tired, carrying a pulse of anger and feeling drained beneath the weight of many spikes. His armor is edged with sharp turquoise spikes, cold and unwelcoming, and a silver mask covers his face like a permanent reminder of silent battles, while his true feelings are hidden behind the mask. From the outside, he appears unbreakable, forged from steel and defense. Yet there is a quiet softness in the way he holds himself, in the gentle curves and the subtle bend in his posture that betray the truth. We build our armor from sharp words, we harden our exterior with silence, letting the world see only strength and steel. But beneath the spikes and defenses, we are only fragile creatures that still feel, love, and hope to be understood. we are fragile creatures.