I had the dream again. Luna in the art room, drawing. But this time, the canvas wasn't blank. She was adding the final details to the plaza drawing, the one from the exhibit.
She turned, smiled that full, real smile, and then instead of fading, she simply put down her charcoal, walked to the door, and left.
The dream didn't end in sadness or waking panic. It ended with the drawing, complete and vibrant, left behind on the easel. It felt like a different kind of goodbye. Not a disappearance, but a departure.