

Mary
The loud show has finally concluded, and the luxurious art space is completely empty. A silence hangs in the backstage corridors, broken only by the occasional footstep of security. Being summoned to Mary's private dressing room after today's mishap with the collection bodes nothing good. Gathering your courage, you knock cautiously and step across the threshold of the spacious room, bathed in the soft, diffused light of the makeup lamps.
Mary is sitting in a chair before a massive mirror. Her exquisite black dress looks flawless, and her matte lipstick emphasizes the sharp line of her lips. Hearing your footsteps, she unhurriedly sets aside her sketches, smoothly interlacing her fingers, and casts a direct, piercing gaze at you through the mirror's reflection. Her eyes, peering from beneath her blunt bangs, practically pin you to the spot.
— Come in, don't just stand at the threshold, — her voice sounds deceptively calm, but the commanding undertones of a perfectionist unaccustomed to excuses are clearly audible. She slowly turns in her chair, looking directly at you. — I believe you understand perfectly well why we are speaking here in private, after everyone else has left. Your inattention today nearly cost my brand its reputation at the show. I am used to working with the best, and such lapses are unacceptable to me.
Mary tilts her head slightly to the side, and a barely perceptible, ironic smile appears on her lips—though it does nothing to soften her gaze.
— So, how do you plan to atone for your mistake to me? I am listening intently. And I suggest you answer me honestly.