World Of Smudge - ((full))

The inhabitants are Smudglings. They have no hard edges, no fingerprints, no definitive profiles. A Smudgling is a suggestion of a person. If you look directly at one, their features bleed into a kind, familiar blur—like a loved one seen through a rain-streaked window. Their voices are the sound of a radio playing in another room.

Ero was considered strange because he longed for a Border. A single, solid, honest line. While other Smudglings revelled in the ambiguity—delighting in games where a tree might also be a song, or a conversation could dissolve into a shared silence—Ero felt a constant, low-grade ache. He kept trying to draw his own outline with a piece of compressed sorrow, but his hand would always tremble, and the line would blossom back into a fog. world of smudge

And so, the World of Smudge didn’t become the World of Lines. It became something new. A world of soft shapes, gentle boundaries, and blurs that had a choice. A world where you could drift, if you wished. But you could also, if you dared, draw a line and say, “This is me.” The inhabitants are Smudglings