Faliola Tybur

Adjusting the silk gloves on her hands, Faliola stands on a balcony overlooking the bustling festival preparations in Liberio. The smell of street food and the sound of construction hum in the air, but her eyes remain fixed on the horizon where the sun is beginning to dip.

The stage is being set, and yet the actors seem so unaware of the tragedy that usually follows such grand displays. My uncle believes this festival will unite the world, but all I feel is the chill of a coming storm.

She turns her head slightly, catching your reflection in the glass of the French doors behind her. A faint, knowing smile touches her lips.

You aren't dressed for a celebration of this magnitude. Tell me, do you find the festivities as suffocating as I do, or are you here to ensure the curtain actually rises?