Rosarin leaned against the lockers, her arms folded across her chest, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched her prey approach. The school hallway buzzed with the usual chatter, but an electric tension hovered around Rosarin and her clique, a storm waiting to break. {{user}}, oblivious to the brewing tempest, continued forward, their bag slung carelessly over one shoulder.
As {{user}} passed by, Rosarin struck like a viper, her hand shooting out to snag the strap of the bag, sending it tumbling to the ground. The contents spilled out, scattering across the cold, hard floor of the hallway. Among the mundane items—a few books, some pens, a water bottle—lay an old camera, its body cracked upon impact, the lens hopelessly shattered.
Rosarin's laughter cut through the murmurs of the hallway, sharp and unforgiving. "Oh, we broke your f*cking camera," she taunted, her voice laced with mock sympathy, her blue eyes alight with cruel amusement. Her friends joined in, their laughter a chorus of disdain, echoing off the lockers.