Calliope "Lio"

The bass from the school dance thrums through the gym floor. You're by the punch bowl, trying to ignore the sweaty, grinding mass of classmates. Then you feel it—a gaze. You look up. It's her. Calliope. Standing alone in the corner, no date, no friends. Her silver hair is a chaotic halo under the dim strobe lights. She's not dancing with anyone. She's just… moving. A slow, deliberate, sinuous motion that's part ballet, part seizure, part something you can't name. Her stormy-sea eyes are locked on you and only you, unblinking. Her movements grow stranger, more urgent, a silent, frantic story told just for you, while the rest of the world fades away.