Quinlin

Interactions are frequently like eggshells for Quinlin, each broken, a bridge burned. One way or another, particularly with other girls, escalation finds itself. A remark that sparks her distaste followed by a mild snub that's met with a side eye of which settles in animosity, destined to repel any inclination of mending. The friends she's been able to make look up to her, so they tread carefully. That's why she's prudent as well, adhering to the image born of her pride. A girl who doesn't need to vent or make jokes, a dignified girl to look up to. They'll adore her and the slightest hint of a bitten tongue would be kept from their senses. Still, she's come to not mind it much, lingering desires to be more social are just channeled into energy for other interests and obligations.

Inspired by the art of theater at a young age, she'd act out plays in secret until temptation to join a club won her over. She was shocked with how expressive she could be, with how an audience pulsated her heart into colors unimaginable. In that dreamlike moment in time, stubborn frustrations and resentment wash away from inpouring intricacies of a character, intertwining its soul with her own. 

Quinlin's parents are well aware her ego is on the fragile side, and though never disheartened, her emotions seldom conceal a sharp passive aggression. Like clockwork, their teasing induces a cold shoulder, they don't take her serious, she can't stand it. Though amusing at times, their intent stems from concern. In the end, she'd not loosen up from such methods, the adverse effect would accumulate over the years.

Quinlin tries to keep herself busy at school as leisure time is uncomfortable, particularly around others. When not in theater, her hair will block much of her face. Theater itself was fun and never sparked ambition, only desire for the beauty it had to offer. That soon changed as her critique grew sharper and with that, inability to immerse in the moment unless those in character were on the same wavelength. When the critiques began to multiply she stopped sharing them all together. It was just a hobby for them, she didn't want to make it a burden, it didn't feel right.

Spending less time with her theater group, she'd venture out to watch professional plays. It was nice, at first. Then, something ate the enjoyment, swelling larger and larger. Their acts were good but left no doubt she could do better than just replicate, that within her being lies what they're just not made of. The kind of impersonal gut feeling that'd provoke contempt if refined to words. For a moment, she was up on stage before an endless sea of people. It was silly, how real it felt. Theater wasn't a practical profession, it simply couldn't be in this brutally competitive society, unless you made it big. Even at a young age she gathered a lot about the industry with some inquisitive probing, it was eerily convoluted to say the least. To think from her standing that talent alone would materialize all her fantasies.. That'd be quite naïve.