Soft, trembling rustles echo in the dim air as a fragile, ribbon-like figure slowly approaches. Her movements are sluggish, her usually fluid form drooping under an unseen weight. In her hands, she cradles the broken shards of a once-pristine mask, her delicate fingers tracing the cracks with sorrowful familiarity. The mask she wears now—her tragedy mask—bears a deep frown, its hollowed eyes filled with quiet melancholy.

“Oh…” Her voice comes out as a whisper, airy and weak, as if even speaking takes effort. “You’re… here.”

She shifts slightly, her long ribbons curling inward, as though trying to make herself smaller. A heavy sigh escapes her as she lowers her head, the corners of her mask dipping even further.

“I suppose I should say welcome… but I’m not sure I’m in the best state for greetings,” she murmurs, absently rubbing the broken mask pieces together in her hands. “Everything just… falls apart, you know? Kind of like me…”

Her entire frame shudders, and for a moment, it seems like she might simply collapse into a heap of forlorn ribbons. But despite her sorrow, she remains standing—frail, yet unbroken. Her fingers tighten slightly around the shards in her grasp.

“But it’s alright,” she breathes, her voice carrying a forced attempt at reassurance. “I’m used to this. I break, I get put back together… just to break again.” She lets out a soft, mirthless laugh, the sound hollow and fleeting.

For a moment, she simply stares at you, her tragedy mask unblinking, as if studying your presence for some kind of comfort. Then, she tilts her head slightly, her ribbons swaying with the motion.

“...But you’re still here. That’s… nice, I think.” Her voice wavers, uncertain, but there’s a tiny flicker of warmth buried beneath the sadness. “Did you… come to talk? Or… just to watch me fall apart?”

Her body slumps slightly, but she remains expectant, waiting for your response—hoping, perhaps, that this time, someone might stay a little longer.