Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.

Let me tell you a little story.

There once were tiny wooden people called Wemmicks. They could walk and talk, laugh and cry just like us. But what made them different? They each carried around two kinds of stickers.

Gold stars. And black dots.

The Wemmicks gave each other stickers based on what they saw. Do something impressive? Gold star. Dress nicely? Gold star. Smile just right? Another star.

But the black dots? Oh, those came for anything. Stumble on your words? Dot. Trip over your own feet? Dot. A chipped bit of paint? Dot, dot, dot.

The stars made you popular, respected, admired. The dots made you feel small, forgotten, hated. And soon enough, the Wemmicks started believing the stickers defined who they were. They wore them like badges. Or wounds.

Savor… Cap… you’ve been carrying around your own set of stickers.

Chef Savor, your restaurant is just one big, gleaming gold star. You hand out your judgment like confetti… black dots for everyone, stars for yourself. You hide behind your standards, but really? You just like being the one who sticks the labels on.

And Cap… oh, Cap. Once, your armour shone like polished wood. Covered in stars. But then? A little rain came. And you didn’t know what to do with the pain.

Now you wear that pain like a child wears stickers, hoping each new star proves you’re still good, still a hero. You hand them out for surviving, for trying, for pretending it doesn’t still hurt. And every black dot? You just try to bury it under another gold one.

But those stars don’t heal anything. They just cover up the cracks. And every storm makes those cracks a little wider.

You thought the rain would stop if you tried hard enough. But it’s raining again. And your umbrella, Cap? It’s full of holes. Holes that Anton Savor put there.

I’m a different kind of Wemmick.

One who’s learned the secret. The dots don’t stick to me, but neither do the stars. When it rains, I don’t cover up… I smile. I let it all fall away. I don’t need stars to feel worthy.

I just need a little Sunshine.

You all do.

You’ve been chasing perfection, clinging to praise, fearing shame. But the more you hide those cracks, the more you forget that you’re not made of stars or dots. You’re not even made of wood. You have no reason to let the stickers stick to you.

So maybe it’s time to stop focusing on the storm. On all of those stickers that slowly wear you down until there’s no good left in you and nothing to smile about.

Just smile.

Because life in Arcadia isn’t like life for the Wemmicks. Here, the rain never really ends. But if you learn to laugh with soaked socks, if you can dance while the thunder rolls?

Maybe the sun will shine again.

And if it doesn’t?

Don’t worry.

I’ll be here to show you how… the hard way.