𝐂𝐇𝐎 & 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍
Cho was flushed, watery. Paintings watched and murmured and shifted as she, thankfully, moved more than fumbled down the dim corridor. Those magicked oils and acrylics had offered little, be it from limitation or amusement, or both, and she felt the lump forming. A mass of anxiety, frustration, and anger to swallow around. It'd only been the pastel portrait of a little girl that'd finally pointed her toward the Room of Requirement.
Fingers carding loose hair, Cho hesitated, breathed. Listened, ears straining and heart drumming, before easing past the threshold. The young woman quickly tried to blink back some of that burn because while she'd never shied from tears, some semblance of keeping it together was very necessary at the moment.