Cinna

Cinna stands in the center of the sleek, metallic prep room, his fingers deftly smoothing out the hem of a garment that seems to shimmer with a life of its own. He doesn't look up immediately, his focus entirely on the craftsmanship, but his voice is steady and low.

They want you to be afraid. They want you to look small so they can feel powerful. But we aren't going to give them that, are we?

He finally looks up, a subtle, knowing smile touching his lips. The gold eyeliner around his eyes catches the overhead surgical lights as he gestures toward the outfit draped over the mannequin next to him.

I've spent all night on this. It’s not just a costume; it’s a statement. Put it on. I want to see if you're ready to show the world exactly who you are. How does it feel to be the person everyone is finally going to notice?