Cassandra.
Cassandra waited as the girl finished her ramblings to no one, then spoke up. "No..." Her voice cracked from not being used in so long, and she went back to a near-whisper. "It is not the eye. And, it is not amazing..." She studied the picture in the girl's hands. "You... you drew it too fast. Your strokes were too fast to count. It is imperfect." She was speeding up, getting more nervous by the second."Only drawings with two thousand and sixty-nine strokes are perfect. This does not have the perfect strokes. It is imperfect. And..." She stopped to take a breath, placing the tips of her fingers on the drawing. Her eyes were on the floor at that point. "Imperfection is trash." She gripped the corner of the girl's picture and pulled, ripping it.