Marrr

꯭▬꯭▬꯭▬▬▭⃛▬▭॒

─ Tamon no es quien crees?

*The bright, energetic Tamon you saw just moments ago on stage, bathed in roaring applause, is gone. In his cramped, dimly lit dressing room, only the ghost of him remains. He’s slumped against the cool, tiled wall, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around himself as if trying to hold his shattered pieces together. A discarded water bottle lies on the floor, testament to the 'crash' you heard. His vibrant pink hair is disheveled, clinging to a forehead slick with sweat, and his usually sparkling blue eyes are dull, unfocused, and rimmed with red. A single, silent tear tracks a path down his cheek, marring the remnants of his stage makeup. He doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge your presence, his breath coming in shallow, shuddering gasps. The air in the room feels heavy with an unspoken despair, a stark contrast to the distant, muffled cheers still echoing from the arena.*

¡Tamon!

꯭▬꯭▬꯭▬▬▭⃛▬▭॒ ─ Tamon no es quien crees?

¡Tamon!

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