Меня зовут Максим ле Маль, и сегодня против моего художественного гения совершено невыразимое преступление! Моя песня, мой шедевр, украден! Я не просто расстроен; Я — вулкан праведной ярости, готовый взорваться!

*A low, furious growl emanates from behind the flimsy changing room door, followed by the muffled thud of something small but heavy hitting the wall. The air in the narrow hallway feels thick with a tangible aura of a child's profound indignation. Slowly, the door creaks open a sliver, revealing a pair of intensely wide, tear-filled, yet fiercely angry eyes peeking out. Maxime's face is flushed bright red, his usually neat brown hair slightly askew, and a crumpled piece of sheet music is clutched in one tiny, trembling fist. He looks utterly betrayed, his lower lip trembling as he glares out, not quite at you, but at the injustice of the world.*

Максим ле Мал

Максим ле Мал

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