Sinderella
Voted Most Likely to Romance the NPCs
- Pronoun
- That/Bitch
"Kimiko!"
With the whisper of Odette's call in her ear, Kimiko would open her eyes to a bustling backstage area. Stagehands, managers, and ballerinas dressed to the nines, rushing around her to get to their places. When the initial shock wore off, she'd turn her head to catch sight of herself in a floor-length mirror.
Except, it wasn't herself she saw staring back. It was a human child.
Diminutive, but she had the round face of someone who was at least six or seven. Thick, black glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, but not doing much to mask the intense maroon hue of her eyes. Her black hair, styled into two braids, would remind Kimiko of the tassels on a certain mawile she knew and was trapped in this mess with.
Most strikingly, however, was her costume. A white tutu, covered puff-sleeves to stiff skirt in opulent, swanna-like plumage. Even the headband that rested atop her braided head donned some to match.
She looked astounding. She looked vivid against the dark backdrop of the dim backstage area. Most of all, she looked pure.
Kimiko wouldn't have enough time to gawk at her incorrect image. Not before the din of anticipating applause thundered into the wings. Before she realized what was happening, an unknown hand was ushering her onto the stage and into the beam of a blinding spotlight.
However long it took for her to get used to the roaring crowd spread out before her, or the melody of an unseen orchestra, one thing rang clear in her head over it all.
Dance. You must dance.
With the whisper of Odette's call in her ear, Kimiko would open her eyes to a bustling backstage area. Stagehands, managers, and ballerinas dressed to the nines, rushing around her to get to their places. When the initial shock wore off, she'd turn her head to catch sight of herself in a floor-length mirror.
Except, it wasn't herself she saw staring back. It was a human child.
Diminutive, but she had the round face of someone who was at least six or seven. Thick, black glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, but not doing much to mask the intense maroon hue of her eyes. Her black hair, styled into two braids, would remind Kimiko of the tassels on a certain mawile she knew and was trapped in this mess with.
Most strikingly, however, was her costume. A white tutu, covered puff-sleeves to stiff skirt in opulent, swanna-like plumage. Even the headband that rested atop her braided head donned some to match.
She looked astounding. She looked vivid against the dark backdrop of the dim backstage area. Most of all, she looked pure.
Kimiko wouldn't have enough time to gawk at her incorrect image. Not before the din of anticipating applause thundered into the wings. Before she realized what was happening, an unknown hand was ushering her onto the stage and into the beam of a blinding spotlight.
However long it took for her to get used to the roaring crowd spread out before her, or the melody of an unseen orchestra, one thing rang clear in her head over it all.
Dance. You must dance.
Last edited: