Quiet Panic

Quiet Panic
Stillness, but not peace. She carries the weight in silken threads, too fine to see, too strong to break. For the ones who hold it all, unseen.
Fluttering masks, soft camouflage, a delicate kind of armour. They gather where the gaze should fall, not to conceal exactly, but to contain. Shielding vision, or turning it inward.
 
The tension lives in the space between what is felt and what is shown.
A moment between moments, poised, alert, unreadable. There is beauty here, but also a pulse beneath it, steady and unsparing. A stillness that hums with the effort of holding back the storm.