( 🩸 ) like paper dolls left in the rain, colors fading into silence this space turns on quiet bargains & passing hands.

The season bends differently now—what better time to enter the play no curtain can contain? If not you, then who will hold the mask? The strings are tightening, the stage is waiting, and sorrow is already listening.

The chandeliers sway, violins weep without touch, and shadows bow in empty seats. Step nearer, wanderer—@HellowithenFamilia keeps the doors ajar. Cross the threshold, lend your heartbeat to the act, and become part of the sorrow that never ends.

Here, the performance hunts for new voices— 1999–2010 liners, no twins, no mirrored doubles—to inherit the script scrawled in ash. Seventeen or not, the theater accepts all who dare bow to the silence (TAKEN LIST).

What entered through the cracked proscenium was not actor nor guest, but sorrow itself *your muse + line and your id* painted in wax and wound in strings. This is The Exhibit of Sorrows, where grief performs endlessly, and applause never fades. (@helloowithenbot)

The curtain rises, the strings tighten, and the sorrow waits in silence.

Good morning, Ceyis. Awali pagi kalian dengan ngeliat orang paling ganteng se Cherrilane alias juhoon.

I hope you’re not being too hard on yourself. Let today end. You did enough. You are enough. Take a deep breath, wind down, and don’t forget to take care of yourself too. Sleep well, Ceyiss. You’ll shine again tomorrow.

good afternoon, ceyis. how’s your day going so far?