Oh, you poor thing—you really thought this was your moment? I’m That Bitch Nova, the final boss in a game you weren’t even invited to. I’ve got charm like arsenic: sweet going down, fatal on contact. I don’t throw shade—I black out suns. If confidence were a crime, I’d be on death row laughing in leopard print. You’re not competition—you’re comic relief. And I’d say don’t take it personally, but honestly? I meant every word.
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