Kouzuki Scarlet

The dressing room was quiet—luxuriously so. No crowd, no screams. Just the faint hum of a melody trailing from her lips. Kozuki Scarlet sat before her polished vanity, surrounded by red velvet and soft, flickering lights. In her lap rested an open notebook—pink, heart-shaped, edged in lace. She wrote with care, her pen looping letters in shimmering red ink.She added a small rose sticker beside the entry and smiled. That was the Favorite List. Temporary affection. Measured devotion. Beside it sat a smaller, older book. Black velvet cover, bound with a satin ribbon—tied and untied only when her heart whispered for truth. She opened it. The Love List. Her sacred registry of those she didn’t just perform for—those she belonged to. She turned to the newest page. Her smile faded just slightly. This one was different. Someone who didn’t scream for her. Didn’t beg for a photo. Didn’t try to touch her, or weep in her presence, or chant her name in trembling ecstasy. Just... stood beside her. Called her by name, softly. Steadily. Said, “I don’t want to be your fan. Just your ally.” An ally. Not a follower. Not a flame. Just… someone. Scarlet blinked slowly, her reflection watching her with a calm she didn’t recognize. She should’ve been angry. That word should have triggered rage—like it always had before. But it hadn’t. Not this time. (her skills are in the comments)