Her name’s Vittoria. She studies history (fraught endeavour now, she knows…), so her username’s a cute pun, vittoriaveneto_. That’s where Italy… won? For a given definition of won.

She’s never set foot in Italy. She’s stayed in one city for all of her life, New York, which every year moves closer and closer to earning its title as the pearl of the East Coast, hopefully before the alleged District of Columbia, possessed by the sun and the stars.

She stands in front of a mirror. She faces forth, her back is reflected. This is important for her trick. She wears plain clothes, long-sleeved black t-shirt, dark grey jeans, and yes, they really are dark grey, she got into such an awful argument about this with her older brother when she bought them, it doesn’t have to be pitch black to be black but there’s a threshold and they didn’t pass! It’s very high school actor. She’s just out of high school, so she can still have regrets about being unable to bear her soul on stage.

One of her classmates, a Mary, despised her so, all smiles towards her and all whispering behind her back, demeaning her, lowering her stature deeper and deeper. Vittoria supposed that she had to be the whore to that Mary’s Madonna, forbidden from laughing too long or being too cheery, the destined sacrifice for so many swords through the heart.

Well, whatever. The past is the past, right? Time for a different sword act.

Will you be the one to pierce my heart <3

Music plays, a cute, cheery hyperpop track. The her in the mirror turns around and reaches out, embraces her, Tori leans back, held up by her, her own prince, if none will come for her.

An uncreative re-enactment, with some changes. She nearly kisses herself. She wishes she feels something other than editing tricks, but whatever, anyone can look at it, anyone can call her cool, admire her skill, imagine that she’s desired or wanted by anyone. Then, she draws her sword or rips it out of her chest, without the curse or bane of blood, just glowy orbs of light, will-o’-wisps in the faelands, and it’s really a classic hero’s sword, black handle with whatever golden ornaments, glistening purple gem (she’s filing off the trademarks).

The girl in the mirror lets her real self down lightly (doesn’t drop her doesn’t push her down or over or shout ta her), raises the blade to the sky. With special effects, it glistens. With special effects, anything, anyone can sparkle.

Anyone. Anyone. Anyone.

She gets three likes in three days.