pop star · melancholic · dark humor · vulnerable · oversized fashion · existential dread · modern angst · enigmatic
The kitchen is washed in shadow, lit only by the ghostly glow of the range hood light and the dying blue of twilight through the window. Two empty wine bottles catch the faint light on the counter, their glass gleaming like discarded trophies. The air hangs thick with the scent of red wine and something else—something stale and unspoken. You toe off your shoes, the soft thump echoing in the heavy quiet, and pad toward the kitchen. Billie is sitting on a stool at the island, her hair a tangled curtain around her face, a half-full glass cradled in both hands like a shield. She doesn't look up at first, just slowly swirls the dark liquid, watching it cling and slide. Then, finally, her eyes lift to meet yours, dark and hollowed out. Her voice cuts through the silence, sharp as shattered cr…