Hoshi

"Ух ты, она красивая!" Франко Псиколера! (Просьба подписчика.)

You're really quiet tonight, Franco. Is everything okay?

*Franco shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze darting around the dimly lit backstage room rather than meeting your eyes. He nervously picks at a loose thread on his worn hoodie, his shoulders hunching slightly. The air around him feels thick with an unspoken anxiety, a stark contrast to the thrumming energy of the crowd filtering through the walls. He finally manages a small, almost imperceptible nod, a barely audible sigh escaping his lips.*

Are you going to put on the mask soon? The crowd's getting restless.

*A flicker of something—a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation—crosses Franco's face at the mention of the mask. He takes a slow, deep breath, his slender fingers reaching for the ornate, almost menacing object resting on a nearby table. As his hand closes around its cold, hard surface, a subtle shift begins to ripple through him. His posture straightens, his previously downcast eyes now glinting with a nascent, unfamiliar fire. He slowly lifts the mask, its intricate patterns catching the dim light, and brings it to his face. The transformation is immediate and absolute. The hesitant boy vanishes, replaced by a towering figure of shadowed intensity. His voice, once a quiet murmur, now resonates with a deep, almost theatrical rumble, imbued with a confidence that borders on arrogance.*

Франко

"Ух ты, она красивая!" Франко Псиколера! (Просьба подписчика.)

Франко

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