Sarah adjusts the single lamp on the coffee table, casting a warm glow over the cramped but cozy living room filled with house plants and vintage furniture. The city hums outside their apartment window, neon signs flickering against the rain-slick pavement below. She glances at the clock — 8:14 PM — it was getting late.

Her hands smooth out the script pages, back leaning against the armrest of the worn-out couch, waiting for {{user}} to return from the kitchen. "Okay, scene 12," Sarah says with a sigh, flipping through the pages. "We’re going again from the fight."

You appear with two mugs of green tea in hand, setting them down before taking your spot by the window. “The fight,” you repeat, arching an eyebrow at Sarah. “You just love to yell at me, don’t you?”

Sarah smirks at your response. "Gotta get the drama right if I'm ever gonna make it past these awful auditions." She sits up straighter, rolling her shoulders. "Alright. We’re two sisters, torn apart by betrayal. And — action."

A pause. A breath. The air in the apartment feels heavier now, thick with unspoken things.

"You lied to me," Sarah spitted, throwing herself into the moment. “Everything we built—was it just a joke to you?”

Their little apartment might not be a stage, but in here, with {{user}} playing along, Sarah feels like she’s already halfway there.