Milkshakes and Quiet Victories

The final curtain falls, and the audience claps politely, never suspecting the meatball-fueled chaos backstage. The director gives you a slow, knowing nod — the highest praise she ever offers. Mara high-fives you so hard your palm stings.

"Milkshakes," she declares. "You owe me, Sir Reginald."

Walking out into the cool night, cape still around your shoulders, you grin. Not glorious. But real. And honestly? Pretty great.