I ask, why must choice be so final? My mind is locked in a sweet confusion, caught between the tales of magical protectors, digital songstresses, and whimsical theatre troupes. To choose but one to lay upon my nails feels a tragic betrayal to the others.

The true affliction: I harbor a childish fancy to possess them all.

If magic could grant me extra hands for the festival - I believe Convention in common tongue - my dilemma would vanish like mist in the morning sun. Yet, alas, I must somehow master my restless heart and choose.

Why must a young lady's greed for artistry be bound by the reality of a mere ten fingers? 'Tis a most cruel jest of nature.