The left wing of the stage was bathed in a softer, pink-tinted light flickering just slightly, like it couldn’t keep up with the strain of its own color. Cindy the Cat stood just off-center, angled forward, almost leaning, as if she had taken one step too many and hadn’t decided whether to stop or go.

Her pose wasn’t posed. Not exactly. One hand was curled mid-gesture, the other slightly lifted. Her ribbon had come slightly loose at one end, fluttering down over her shoulder with a stiffness that only came from artificial fabric. It didn’t sway. It twitched.

Her face bore the same polished friendliness as her brother’s; but with something tighter behind it. The smile was pulled just a little wider, the eyes open just a little too far. They glowed faintly violet, catching the stage lights in a way that made them seem like they were a mix of cheerful and empty.

Unlike Candy, Cindy didn’t hold still out of elegance. She held still the way something overclocked might, locked in a perfect standstill, not out of calm, but because the system beneath was coiled too tight to move without unraveling.

There were no sounds of movement. No subtle clicks. But a faint buzz clung to her, the kind that lingered in the air just before something shorted out. Her shadow behind her jittered faintly from the inconsistent light, giving the illusion of breathing when she didn’t.

Cindy didn’t slump. She didn’t freeze.
She waited, statue-still.
Like someone who wanted the spotlight again but couldn’t remember how to ask.