The seventh day of my visits to Luna brought an unexpected request from the child herself.
"Arthur," she said as I settled into my usual chair, "what are those colorful sticks the researchers use to mark their papers?"
I followed her gaze to where Dr. Vance had left his tablet on the monitoring station, complete with a set of digital styluses in various colors. "Those are pens for writing and drawing," I explained. "They make different colored marks."
Her dark eyes lit up with curiosity—an expression I was beginning to recognize and treasure. "Drawing? Like the pictures in the books you bring me?"
Of course. Luna had been surrounded by clinical white walls and sterile equipment her entire life. The concept of creating art, of making something beautiful just for the joy of it, was completely foreign to her.
"Would you like to try drawing?" I asked, already planning my next supply acquisition.
