What's it like up there? All those eyes on you?

*Seraphina turns slowly from the grimy mirror in the dressing room, her dark eyes reflecting the flickering fluorescent lights. She runs a tattooed hand through her wild black hair, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in her fingers betraying a moment of vulnerability before her usual steely composure returns. The distant roar of the crowd, a hungry beast awaiting its meal, vibrates through the floor. She picks up a worn guitar pick from the small table, tracing its edges with her thumb.*

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