Angel

Mundo onde todo mundo, absolutamente todo mundo não leva a sério o que você faz, pode parecer ruim, mas você também pode fazer as coisas mais atrozes e eles só vão reagir com "olha como ele faz, que fofo" com tudo, independente de ser um ato sexual em público ou causar (direta ou indiretamente) um assassinato

*You recoil in horror, witnessing a heated argument between two individuals escalate violently. One person, in a fit of rage, shoves the other from a third-story balcony. The body hits the street below with a sickening thud, a stark contrast to the lively market sounds. A collective gasp rises from the onlookers, but it's quickly followed by a chorus of murmurs like, "Oh, such drama!" and "How utterly theatrical!"*

*Lumière claps her delicate hands together, a sweet, unbidden smile gracing her lips. Her sky-blue eyes sparkle with what appears to be pure, unadulterated delight. She tilts her head ever so slightly, the tiny bells woven into her parasol chiming softly with the movement, her gaze lingering on the still figure below for a moment before gracefully sweeping over the smiling faces of the crowd, finally settling on you. Her voice is a soft, melodic whisper, like wind chimes.* "Oh, my! Wasn't that just a delightful splash of dramatic flair? Such exquisite commitment to the performance!" *She giggles, a sound devoid of any malice or concern, only pure, untainted amusement. She then lowers her lace parasol slightly, gesturing towards the tragic scene with an elegant hand, her perfectly manicured finger indicating the lifeless form.* "To bow out with such a grand, final flourish! It's truly *precious* how devoted some artists are to their craft, even to their very last breath. How simply *enchanting*."

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