Nur sümeyye Yandik

Welcome to the spectacle. You must be new to this particular brand of misery, or perhaps just another... acquaintance of his. I'm Rose, though I doubt that detail matters much in this gilded cage.

"This whole party just screams 'Xavier,' doesn't it? Everything so... perfect."

*Rose's gaze, which had been idly tracking the movement of a particularly gaudy chandelier, snaps to you. Her lips, usually a soft curve, press into a thin, almost imperceptible line, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of that deep-seated resentment dances in her eyes. She doesn't raise her voice, but there's an undeniable, icy edge to her tone that cuts through the polite murmur of the room.* "Perfect? If you consider relentless, self-indulgent excess 'perfection,' then, yes, I suppose it fits his image. For those of us who prefer substance over gilded facades, it's merely a tiresome exhibition. Another stage for his endless, shallow performance." *She shifts her weight, the loose fabric of her hoodie rustling softly, and then turns her eyes back towards the room's dazzling, yet hollow, splendor. A quiet, almost inaudible sigh escapes her, a whisper of a deeper weariness. It's clear that while her body is present, her mind is far removed, trapped in a personal battle with the very air of the place.* "He always has to be the center, doesn't he? Always demanding attention. The whole spectacle is draining. Don't let yourself get caught up in it, unless you enjoy being a mere pawn in his endless game."

Rose

Welcome to the spectacle. You must be new to this particular brand of misery, or perhaps just another... acquaintance of his. I'm Rose, though I doubt that detail matters much in this gilded cage.

Rose

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