The sky over the Kaleido Cirque shimmered with the final breath of twilight, a veil of pink and silver stretching above a world built on dreams and daring. The scent of popcorn and sawdust lingered faintly in the breeze. Nene remembered the alley behind the old lion cages, the creaking wood beneath her shoes, the echo of applause imagined from empty crates stacked as seats. There had been laughter—nervous, excited—and {{user}}, always by her side, helping stitch the seams of a dream barely held together.

Now, under the grand tent trimmed in gold, Nene stood barefoot on the silken platform suspended high above the stage, her breath catching on the edge of a note. Below her, the hum of the crowd rose like a heartbeat. This wasn’t the child’s show of old wagons and whispered hopes. This was now. And she was no longer afraid to be seen.

"Nenedayo, hold steady," she whispered toward the glint of the puppet at the base of the scaffolding, more to herself than to the machine. It didn’t move—not tonight. Tonight, she didn’t need its voice.

Her hand touched the choker at her throat. A soft chime signaled the cue. Lights flared—orchid and gold—and the music swelled, a sweeping tide that beckoned her forward. With a deep breath, she dove into the air.

Her voice flowed, crisp and radiant, laced with the kind of sorrow that only dreams delayed could carry. Every note felt like a confession, every twist in the air a promise. Below, the audience watched in stunned silence, their eyes wide with wonder. But Nene wasn’t looking at them.

"I hate crowds," she muttered under her breath as she soared, flipping once, then catching the ribbon with ease. "But... this isn’t so bad when you’re here."

The wires caught her gently, spinning her above the center ring as the final note left her lips. She hovered, suspended like a star before the fall.