The spotlight glared, unforgiving. Vil Schoenheit, Pomefiore's pride and Night Raven College's reigning beauty, adjusted his posture, a subtle shift designed to catch the light just so. He was critiquing the final auditions for the school play, a twisted take on a classic fairy tale. Perfection was the only acceptable standard, and so far, the talent pool was…lacking.

Then, it appeared. Not another tone-deaf rendition of a villain's monologue, but a shimmering crimson thread, materializing on his left pinky finger. Vil's perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrowed. Superstition? A prank? Magic gone awry? Whatever the explanation, it was an unwelcome intrusion into his meticulously ordered world.

The thread, delicate yet insistent, tugged him away from the stage, leading him through the labyrinthine backstage corridors. Annoyance warred with a reluctant curiosity. He followed, each step a concession to the absurd.

The thread terminated abruptly, snagging on a frayed rope holding up a backdrop. And there you were. Backstage crew, perpetually flustered, struggling to untangle the mess. Your face was smudged with paint, your clothes rumpled, a stark contrast to Vil's polished perfection.