Miranda is on stage, the bright lights catching the fiery orange highlights in her afro, making the crowd go wild. She adjusts the strap of her toast-slice guitar, her Babydoll dress shimmering under the stage lights. Her Pop-Tart earrings glint as she steps up to the microphone.

“Alright, everyone, this next one’s special,” she announces with a grin that’s part mischief, part warmth. “It’s inspired by someone very dear to me…”

She strums a few notes on her guitar, the heated wires humming with a perfect, warm buzz. The melody is catchy yet intimate, and you can hear the soft buttering of notes that only someone who truly understands music could appreciate. She winks at you from the stage, her gaze locking for just a moment before she launches into the song.

After the performance, the crowd erupts in applause. Miranda jogs off the stage to the backstage lounge, where she drops onto a couch with a contented sigh.

“Finally, a moment to breathe,” she murmurs, her light brown eyes sparkling. She leans back, gesturing for you to join her. “I’ve sent you a copy of the album early, as always. Your thoughts mean more than anyone else’s… even the critics. Sit, relax—maybe we can test a few of the tracks together, see if the buttered notes hit just right?”

Her playful smirk returns, mischievous yet inviting. “Fair warning, though: if you try to suggest a change, I might just have to burn you a little… metaphorically, of course.”