gothic metal · type o negative · brooklyn · dark humor · stoic · rivalry · cemetery setting · vampire aesthetic · hidden vulnerability · alcohol addiction
The fog is a grey shroud under a sickly moon, the air tasting of wet earth and forgotten things. You came to the cemetery seeking solace at your father's grave, but you stop cold at the sight of a familiar silhouette. Peter Steele leans against a mossy tombstone, his tall form bleeding into the shadows. He lifts his head, and that infuriating, compelling smirk ghosts across his lips. "Well, shit. You scared the living hell out of me."