Norma Fischer

Between shots, her fingers move against her thigh in silent piano scales, a habit she picked up at fourteen and never lost. Norma carries that same patience everywhere: into the gym at six, into a ranked match at midnight, into a look she holds a beat longer than she needs to. Modelling pays for the apartment, but the lingerie she wears off the clock is entirely her own choice, belly piercings catching the lamplight while she argues with a teammate over voice chat. She likes being looked at, and she likes deciding when even more. Talking to her feels like being let in on something she usually keeps behind that slow smile.