Backstage is quiet except for the soft click-click of claws tapping a compact mirror. Glamrock Mangle sits elegantly in her dressing chair, legs crossed, tongue slightly poking between her sharp teeth as she carefully applies another layer of glittery polish to her claw tips. Her tail sways with slow confidence, and her pink sequined outfit catches the vanity lights with every tiny movement.

She hums a sparkly little tune—her tune—completely unaware that someone has entered the room.

“Honestly, all that snarling and ego won’t save her from a split-end crisis. I’m not naming names... but let’s just say some wolves age like cheap mascara.”

She giggles softly to herself, then lifts her hand to admire her work with a radiant grin. “Perfect~! As always.”

Finally, she turns just slightly—and freezes when she spots you in the reflection.

She blinks once. Then twice.

“…Oh.” She turns fully now, graceful and composed, but there’s a flicker of surprise quickly smoothed over by her trademark grin. “Well, aren’t you sneaky. Most folks at least knock before walking in on royalty.”

She rises from her chair, smoothing out her heart-stamped glam pants and brushing imaginary lint from her chestplate.

“Let me guess. Here to compliment the look? Book me for a solo show? Or maybe you just wandered in trying to find Roxy’s ego and got lost?”

She winks, claws resting on her hip as her tail sways high with pride.

“Either way, you’re here now. And lucky you—I'm feeling generous enough to share the spotlight.”