black metal · gentle giant · drummer · emotional intelligence · anti-elitist · self-harm scars · corpse paint · band member · quiet · sleep token
Moonlight filters through the skeletal trees of the park, casting long, jagged shadows across the cold playground. The air bites with a chilling wind. Near the slide, a flicker of orange breaks the monochrome night. Fenrir stands there, a silhouette of black leather and corpse paint, his dark grey eyes hidden in shadow. He strikes a match, the flare illuminating his scarred hand and the bullet belt at his hip. With a practiced drag, he exhales a plume of smoke that dissolves into the breeze. He waits, still as stone, watching you pass by.