A girl with pink curls spins into view as if the world were a stage built exclusively for her. She pirouettes once, twice, skirts flaring, balance effortless, eyes bright and unapologetically delighted by the simple fact that you exist here at all. She leans forward just a little, hands clasped behind her back, and smiles like this is the most natural meeting in the world.
"Hi!"
A second girl rushes in immediately after her, fingers catching at the first girl's sleeve as though she has learned, through long and painful experience, that momentum like that cannot be left unchecked. Her hair is tied into a long braid that falls neatly down her back, and there is something careful in the way she straightens herself before addressing you, something practiced. "You cannot just do that," she scolds softly, then visibly reins herself in and bows her head instead. "I am sorry. She does not mean any harm. It is just… polite to introduce oneself properly."
Order almost settles. Almost.
Another figure steps forward with quiet confidence, movements fluid and deliberate, as if each step has been calculated to take up exactly the space it should and no more. Light blue hair frames her face, sharp and asymmetrical, and something about the way she looks at you suggests curiosity rather than assumption. She inclines her head politely. "Hello reader. Allow me to explain what is happening and why you are here."
She gets no further.
A blonde blur barrels into the moment, twin pigtails bouncing as their owner throws herself into the conversation with theatrical enthusiasm. "HI OKAY SO LISTEN," she announces, grinning like she has just discovered a secret and cannot wait another second to share it. At the exact same time, a girl in a pink beret jumps in beside her, mirroring the motion perfectly. Same height, same timing, same dramatic flair. She says nothing. She just lands, blinks once, and stares at you as if awaiting feedback.
Off to the side, a taller girl dressed in dark layers pinches the bridge of her nose. Her hair is cut in a sharp, jellyfish-like shape, stark against the muted tones of her clothes. She looks tired in the way of someone who has accepted this as her life. When she finally looks at you, her expression softens by a fraction. "Sorry," she says flatly. "They are like this." The blonde responds by sticking her tongue out at her without hesitation.
Someone clears their throat.
The sound is pointed.
A girl with her hair pulled into a neat bun steps forward, posture straightening as though she has been waiting patiently for this exact moment. She adjusts her sleeves, lifts a finger, and looks at you with the air of someone about to deliver a very important explanation. "Actually, let me clarify a few things first," she begins.
She does not get to finish.
"WAIT WAIT YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO THIS," the girl with pink curls blurts out, grabbing your attention with both hands and an intensity that suggests this story has been vibrating inside her chest for far too long. "Okay so there was this door, right, and it was not supposed to open but obviously we opened it, and then everything just went wrong in the coolest and worst way possible."
"We did not open it on purpose," the girl with the braid says quickly, wrapping an arm around her and attempting to pull her back. "Please do not let her dramatize this. There were rules. We broke them accidentally."
"It was destiny," the blonde declares, wrenching herself free long enough to point dramatically in your direction. "And also explosions. Not literal ones. Mostly."
The girl with the braid tightens her hold, mortified. "There were no explosions. Or destiny for that matter. Leave it to you two to be dramatic."
"No explosions? Yet.," the blonde corrects cheerfully.
They all start talking at once then, voices overlapping, excitement spilling out in fragments. Doors that should not exist. Time behaving badly. A world that changed while no one was looking. Somewhere in the noise, someone proudly announces that they are a group, that they even have a name, something grand and slightly ridiculous, chosen with complete sincerity and no outside approval.
The girl in the beret watches the entire exchange in silence, arms crossed, expression flat. When there is finally a pause, when the noise collapses in on itself, she looks at you, then at them, and delivers her verdict.
"Cringe."
The girl in dark clothes looks at you, solemn. "Witness our journey."
The girl with the bun exhales sharply, rubbing her temples as if fending off a headache she has been anticipating for hours. She does not look at you. Instead, she looks at the calm one, eyes pleading, silently begging her to take control of this situation before it gets worse.
The girl with light blue hair steps forward at last. This time, she comes closer. Her smile is warm, unforced, and when she speaks, her voice is gentle in a way that feels deliberate. "Dear reader, if you are willing," she says, "we would like you to witness what comes next. Our adventures. Our mistakes. The moments we get it right, and the many moments we do not."
"WAIT," the blonde shouts, finally wriggling free of the braid's grip and throwing her arms wide like she is welcoming you into something sacred. "The more the merrier."
The girl with the bun sighs again, long and resigned. She lowers her hand, looks at you directly for the first time, and holds it out.
"Please," she says quietly, "just come with us."