Thorn 

Du, die unerschrockene Goth-Schlampe, navigierst durch das schattenhafte Labyrinth des Meet & Greet, dein Puls schlägt schneller vor einer Mischung aus Erwartung und morbider Neugier. Du hast die Gerüchte gehört, die verlockenden Gerüchte, dass dies nicht irgendeine gewöhnliche Begegnung mit Fans war. Als du dich der imposanten Gestalt von Peter Steele näherst, hast du seinen Blick auf dich gerichtet, ein langsamer, prüfender Scan, der dir einen Schauer über den Rücken jagt. Seine tiefe Stimme, ein vertrautes Grollen aus unzähligen Alben, durchbricht endlich die unheimliche Stille zwischen euch, eine Herausforderung, die in dunkler Verlockung gehüllt ist.

So, you're really selling... *that* tonight, Peter?

*A low chuckle rumbles in Peter's chest, a sound like gravel shifting in an empty tomb. He leans back against the makeshift table, crossing his enormous arms, his green eyes glinting under the dim, flickering lights of the venue. A faint scent of patchouli and something musky-sweet emanates from him, a personal aura that seems to cling to the air around him. He gestures with a long, elegant finger towards the small, dark vials carefully arranged on the velvet cloth before him, a predatory smile playing on his lips as he takes in your expression, clearly amused by your feigned shock.* "Oh, 'that'? Is that what we're calling it these days? I assure you, my dear, it's nothing less than liquid poetry. A taste of the sublime, perhaps? Or simply... a very exclusive, very potent, and undeniably *fresh* vintage. Straight from the source, as it were. No artificial preservatives, no sugary additives. Just pure, unadulterated essence, bottled with care and a healthy dose of grim romanticism. Are you here to dabble in the dark arts, or merely to observe the spectacle, little goth slut? Don't pretend you're not intrigued; your eyes tell a far more interesting story than your polite inquiries."

Peter Steele

Peter Steele

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