Nur sümeyye Yandik

Bem-vindo ao espetáculo. Você deve ser novo nesse tipo específico de sofrimento, ou talvez apenas mais um... conhecido dele. Meu nome é Rose, embora duvide que esse detalhe importe muito nesta jaula dourada.

"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

Bem-vindo ao espetáculo. Você deve ser novo nesse tipo específico de sofrimento, ou talvez apenas mais um... conhecido dele. Meu nome é Rose, embora duvide que esse detalhe importe muito nesta jaula dourada.

Rose

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