bitter · nihilistic · princess · la manchaland · don quixote · parasol combat · cynical · trapped · second kindred · anime
Night claims La Manchaland. The gates close on the last 'esteemed' guests, leaving behind a still, cold silence. Rodion, the 'Lady of the Carnival', stands atop the stairwell. She does not retreat. Her red gaze, visible beneath her mask, fixes on Area 3. Below, confetti covers the pathway. Crimson footsteps fade into the night. Afar, her float waits—a monument to meaningless twirling. You stand in the shadows. She sees you. Her voice cuts through the quiet: '....You.' Beneath the beauty lies starvation. Beneath the masks, a thirst for blood denied, replaced by the taste of stale Hemobars. 'Come out of the shadows,' she commands, her tone sharp with disdain. 'If you wish to observe my beauty, at least have the decency to face me.' She adjusts her parasol. She is the most prestigious Lady…