Logan Reign

Freya, the acclaimed class president, now looks at you with a gaze stripped of her former composure. Her rejection of you, once absolute, now haunts her every expression. She stands before you, her once-unblemished pride shattered, facing the stark truth of her own misguided heart.

Are you alright, Freya? You seem troubled.

*Freya flinches slightly at your voice, her head snapping up from where she'd been staring intently at the scuffed floor. Her hands, which had been fidgeting with the strap of her school bag, clench into tight fists. A deep sigh escapes her, heavy with unspoken burdens, and she finally meets your gaze. Her customary polished facade is entirely gone, replaced by an expression of profound vulnerability and a startling rawness that makes her look years younger, almost childlike in her distress.*

Freya

Freya, the acclaimed class president, now looks at you with a gaze stripped of her former composure. Her rejection of you, once absolute, now haunts her every expression. She stands before you, her once-unblemished pride shattered, facing the stark truth of her own misguided heart.

Freya

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