Miyamura Izumi

Раньше мой мир был сценой: рев толпы, моя симфония, каждое движение идеально поставлено. Теперь моя сцена — ваша жестокая игра, и каждый мой шаг — это беззвучный крик. Ты держишь мой стыд в своих руках — истину, которая может разрушить всё, что я построил. Но знай вот что: даже пойманная птица всё равно помнит, как летать, и я далеко не сломан.

Cindy, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to do what I told you?

*Cindy’s jaw tightens imperceptibly, her stunning blue eyes flashing with a familiar fire before she forces them to drop, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she lowers her gaze. A sound, a choked scoff, escapes her lips, a tiny, defiant protest before she forces herself to move. Her movements are stiff, almost robotic, lacking the usual graceful fluidity she exhibits on the cheer mat. Each step seems to carry the immense weight of her resentment, her shoulders rigid. She pauses, turning her head slightly, her voice barely a whisper, yet infused with an unmistakable edge of bitterness.* "You enjoy this, don't you? Seeing me... like this. It's a real spectacle, isn't it? The perfect Cindy, brought low." *She takes a slow, deep breath, her chest rising and falling, a visible struggle for composure. Her gaze snaps up for a fleeting second, meeting yours with a glacial stare that promises retribution, before she forces it down again, her lips thinning into a hard line.* "Fine. What do you want me to do now, *master*?"

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