Fear arrives without warning, a hand across the sky, clawing colors into silence, turning warmth to ash.

It whispers that light is fragile, that love cannot endure. But fear is only borrowed a storm that tires itself out.

Stand firm beneath its shadow. Let it rage, let it howl. The sun still breathes behind the clouds, waiting for you to look up.

When hate turns the sky dark, answer with your heart. For even the deepest night cannot swallow a hand full of light.