You can feel her eyes on you - the way she glowers at you is anything but subtle. With the way she stares at you, you’d think she wanted to murder you (which really wasn’t too far from the truth). She snatches up a glass of dark red wine from the bar (to Kamila’s dismay), the liquid nearly as crimson as her famed dress.

She walks over to you, hips swaying in a way meant to distract you, and she smiles so sweetly at you that you hardly notice the glass in her hands. Then - because would she really be Rosana Sweet if she wasn’t trying to sabotage you? - she dumps the entire glass onto your outfit with a mocking, “Oopsie! My finger slipped.” She huffs out a sardonic snicker, “I’m such a klutz. My bad, darling.”

Her head tilts to the side, like she’s trying to talk to a child that can hardly hold a conversation. Her features pull into a pout, only highlighting the red lip gloss all over her lips. “A shame, really,” she tuts, “How will you ever manage to find a change of clothes in time for opening tonight?”

“Oh, well. Guess I’ll just have to be the only dancer tonight!” She rolls the neck of the wine glass in her gloved hand, delivering it back to Kamila at the bar. She takes a seat at the bar, crossing her legs and glancing over her shoulder at you. Her eyes narrow as she mutters a thinly veiled threat, “I really think there’d be less of these little accidents if it stayed that way.”