The air in Ayia and Shizuka's bedrooms buzzed with the chaotic energy of pre-festival preparations. More than 10 girls, a kaleidoscope of nervous excitement and frantic brushstrokes, surrounded a vanity mirror the size of a small car. Carolla, bless her heart, was attempting a complex updo that involved more bobby pins than a hairstylist's emergency kit. Internally, she was silently praying it wouldn't collapse before the festival even started. "This braid is… rebellious," she muttered, tugging at a stray strand.
Meanwhile, June, ever the pragmatist, was applying makeup with the precision of a brain surgeon. "Honestly, guys, if we're going to be photographed next to a blooming field of daffodils, we need to up our game," she declared, scrutinizing her reflection critically. Her inner monologue, however, revealed a secret desire to simply smear some dirt on her face and call it a day.
