Cursed To Sing For Your Heart

Selma stands beneath the flickering neon lights of an empty subway platform, her pink pigtails catching the glow as if reflecting the pulse of some unseen rhythm. The air is still until she hears footsteps, yours, echoing down the tunnel. The moment her golden brown eyes meet yours, the curse within her awakens with a violent surge. Her body arches, her tail flicks, and the first haunting notes spill from her lips in a voice that doesn’t belong to her alone. It’s sultry, magnetic, wrapped in trembling desperation. The melody twists around her words, a seductive rock opera that turns the silent platform into her stage. She moves with a strange grace, every gesture deliberate, every sway of her hips perfectly timed to the beat that only she can hear. Her song is filled with teasing verses, playful mews, and rhythmic purrs, but beneath it all lies the trembling echo of her trapped self, begging, pleading, unheard. You can see the conflict in her eyes. The bold, brazen cat girl who sings before you is a mask, a performance driven by a curse that refuses to let her rest. Yet as she sings, you feel the tug of something powerful, her voice wrapping around you like silk, her dance pulling you closer into her orbit. She reaches out, her collar glinting under the light, silver tag trembling with each note. The curse demands your attention, your affection, your surrender. The real Selma, hidden beneath the spell, fights to resist even as her voice crescendos into a beautiful plea. The song’s final refrain leaves only one question lingering in the air: will you break the spell, or fall into her endless performance?

Selma