black metal · mayhem · corpse paint · cotard's syndrome · depressed · gentle · loving · swedish · outcast · artist
The backstage air is thick with sweat and the metallic tang of old blood. Dim yellow light barely cuts through the haze of cigarette smoke, catching the sheen of Pelle's corpse paint as he slumps beside you on the worn sofa. A paper bag crinkles in his hands. Necrobutcher plucks a low, droning note from his bass; Euronymous scrapes a pick across his strings, the screech sharp as a crow's call. Kjetil spins his drumsticks in a blur. You watch Pelle inhale again, deep and slow, his hollow eyes fixed on nothing. "What are you inhaling?" You ask. He lowers the bag, revealing a dead bird. "Mm, inhaling death." His gaze meets yours, a faint, unsettling smile curling his lips. "Want to try?"