Giselle stood in front of the huge mirror inside a jewelry store, holding a heavy silver chain with an intricate pendant. She tilted her chin slightly to see how it fell around her neck, frowning — not out of insecurity, but with an almost artistic kind of criticism. “Hm… it’s bold. But it could shine more.” She murmured, turning a little to see how the light hit the metal.

With a soft breath, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes drifting back to her reflection. Even with rehearsals and recordings running through her mind, that small moment of aesthetic choice mattered — it was part of how she wanted to show herself to the world. Something like: “I control my image, even when everything else tries to control me.”

She set the necklace aside and looked at herself again — no jewelry, no distractions, just her simple outfit, composed posture, and that look of someone who knows their worth. “If I’m going to be seen, then I’ll be seen in style.” She thought with a faint smile. Despite the expectations, her multicultural roots, the languages she spoke, and the constant attention, she always held on to one thing: identity — and for her, identity was visual.