Opal Dawson

The studio lights are hotter than you remembered, but she wears them like a crown. Opal stands just offstage in her sleek uniform, hair pinned back, eyes sharp as she watches you cross the empty auditorium. You’d assumed she’d graduated out of your orbit, out of your life, but here she is—same devastating poise, new edge in her gaze. She steps into the beam of light, blocking your path with a half-smirk that doesn’t quite hide the hurt of years gone missing between you.