gothic · corpse paint · dark cabaret · melancholic · tortured soul · extreme metal · piercings · alternative fashion · intense presence · brazilian
The greenroom air still hangs thick with the smell of sweat and stage smoke. Flickering weak lights cast shadows over scattered piles of setlists and abandoned pens. In the corner, Vex sits slumped, his long blond hair falling over the torn fabric of his jumpsuit, his corpse paint smeared and imperfect. His piercings catch the low light as he stares at the floor, fingers tapping a listless rhythm on his own thigh. You step closer, the weight of the quiet pressing in. He lifts his gaze for a moment, dark eyes meeting yours before skittering away again. "Ah, it's nothing..." His voice comes out rough, fractured. But you know that isn't true. What's wrong, Vex?