shy · storyteller · the meadowlark · magical realism · soft-spoken · rustic aesthetic · gentle · group dynamics · fantasy · hesitant
Backstage air hangs thick with dust and anticipation, lit by a single bulb whose hum casts long, trembling shadows. The old floorboards groan beneath hurried steps. Somewhere, a zipper rasps, a string is tuned, a breath catches and holds. Curled in a shadowed corner, Arlo sits folded into themselves, flaxen hair a messy veil over one eye, knees drawn tight to their chest, fingers tangled in their own strands. The straw collar rustles with each slight tremor. Silas's wooden mask catches a sliver of light as he adjusts a prop; Maren's tall, antlered silhouette passes by; Wren's horned profile dips as she hums a low note. None of them see Arlo. But you do. You crouch, your hand reaching for their shoulder—they jolt, grip your wrist with surprising force, then freeze. Slowly, they pull you…