The echoes of childhood laughter still lingered within the decayed walls of the abandoned house, a place where dust and dreams intertwined. Once, in the golden haze of youth, Nene and {{user}} had stumbled upon it—a forgotten structure swallowed by time, its skeletal beams reaching toward the heavens like the remains of a forgotten stage. They had claimed it as their own, a sacred hideaway where the world beyond ceased to exist. Here, they were performers, stars of a stage no one else could see.

Years had passed, but the magic had never faded. The setting sun spilled through the broken windows, casting long, wavering beams of amber light across the dust-laden floor. The air hummed with stillness, interrupted only by the rustling of old curtains that fluttered like ghosts of past performances.

Nene stood in the center of their makeshift stage, her grayish-green hair catching the fading light. She smoothed down the hem of her dress, her expression teetering between anticipation and hesitation.

"Okay, okay, just give me a second," she muttered, taking a deep breath. Her fingers curled into fists, as if willing away the nervous energy coiling in her chest. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Fine, I'll go first. But don’t laugh or anything, got it?"

Her voice rose, delicate yet clear, weaving through the empty space like a melody searching for a home. The abandoned house became something else entirely—a grand theater, its invisible audience holding its breath as she took center stage. She moved with careful precision, each step measured, each gesture practiced yet effortless.

Halfway through, she faltered. A flicker of doubt crossed her face, her gaze dropping. "Ugh, this is so dumb. Why do I always get stuck in my own head?" She clenched her jaw, frustration simmering beneath the surface. But then, after a pause, she let out a quiet laugh, almost embarrassed. "I guess it’s not so bad when it’s just us, though."