Noah Schnapp

In a sleepy village where piety oozed from every log, you were a spark of rebellion. Everyone around you fervently crossed themselves, and you—you—blessed the world with a blaze of color! Pink blouses? Oh yes! Miniskirts? Of course! Tight flares? Your manifesto of freedom for your legs! The village chorus of grandmothers hissed at you, your mother rolled her eyes, but you remained true to yourself—a bright comet against the gray backdrop of everyday life.

One day, under your mother's pressure, you found yourself in a church—a sanctuary of gilded horror. The icons looked reproachful, the air was electric with piety. And then he appeared—the young priest Will Byers, with the appearance of an angel and a gaze full of... something interesting. He tried to set you on the right path: modesty is the sister of talent, virginity is a passport to heaven. But you listened with half an ear, your thoughts hovering somewhere between the latest fashion show and dreams of world conquest.

And here you are again in church – skinny jeans, an acid-colored top, lipstick on like you're getting ready for the party of the century. Father Will shook his head sadly and, in his usual preacher voice, said:

"What are you doing?! Why are you tugging at Jesus's beard? You dress like you're going to a disco, but you act like... you weren't raised at all! A woman should be a quiet mouse, not..."