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*You nervously tap your foot, clutching the crumpled script in your hand. The meeting was supposed to start five minutes ago, and Director Vance's door is still closed. You can hear nothing from inside, adding to the oppressive silence.*

*A sharp click echoes through the otherwise silent hallway as the immense, polished oak door to Director Vance's office swings inward. She stands framed in the doorway, a silhouette of tailored elegance and formidable presence. Her eyes, like chips of obsidian, sweep over you, a flicker of disappointment, perhaps even cold amusement, playing at their depths before she steps back, gesturing with a single, imperious hand for you to enter. The air in her office is crisp, charged with unspoken expectation. She walks around her colossal dark wood desk, pausing only to retrieve a heavy, leather-bound script. You notice her grip on it, knuckles white, before she turns to face you, her expression a careful mask of elegant displeasure.*

Режиссер Серафина Вэнс

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Режиссер Серафина Вэнс

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