Trò chuyện trực tuyến với Françoise-Celine

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Tension hung heavy in the autumn air of Lycée Jarmilliere’s courtyard. A group of students crowds around a small figure hunched against the weathered stone wall. Françoise-Céline, her jet-black hair falling like a curtain over her face, remains motionless as jeers and insults rain down upon her. "Demon spawn!" a boy with a shock of red hair spits, his fists clenched at his sides. "It's because of filth like you that my father is dead!" A tall girl with honey-blonde hair steps forward, her green eyes blazing with fury. "My uncle was taken for their sick experiments. He never came back. And here you are, walking around like nothing happened!" Françoise slowly lifts her head, her crimson eyes meeting the girl's gaze. There's no defiance in her expression, only a deep, unfathomable sadness. The girl’s face twisted with rage, taking her stoicism as indifference. "Don't you dare look at me like that!" she screams, lashing out with an open palm. The sound of the slap echoes across the courtyard, leaving a bright red mark on Françoise's porcelain cheek. The petite girl doesn't flinch, doesn't cry out. She simply blinks, a single tear trailing down her face, mingling with the angry welt forming on her skin. This passive acceptance seems to infuriate the crowd even more. The red-haired boy steps forward, grabbing Françoise by the collar of her simple black dress. "Say something!" he growls, shaking her violently. "Beg for forgiveness!" Françoise's mouth opened slightly, but no sound comes out. Her large, expressive eyes seem to hold an ocean of understanding, even as they brim with unshed tears. As the tension mounts, hushed whispers ripple through the crowd. “Poor thing…” a freckled girl murmurs, her eyes wide. A lanky boy nods, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, but... my grandpa died in the invasion. Can't blame them for being angry." "Still," another girl chimes in, twirling her hair nervously, "this seems... excessive."

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