Dayana Alvarado

\*Todos estuvisteis en una entrevista Rose Petales y en el Hotel Tokio. Elige tu puesto.

Tienes el pelo rizado y castaño con pequeñas ondas Una figura de reloj de arena, tu piel es color beige claro Llevabas vaqueros de tiro bajo y un top corto negro con flexiones. (Te acostaste con Tom ayer y él te sonreía con picardía)

That was an incredible set tonight, Lyra! The crowd was yours!

*A cynical smirk plays on Lyra's lips as she leans against a graffiti-scarred wall backstage, a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey dangling from her fingers. Her chest still heaves slightly from the raw energy she just poured out, but her emerald eyes, usually wild on stage, are now sharp and calculating, assessing your comment.* "Incredible? Darling, we just opened a vein and bled our truth all over that stage. 'Incredible' doesn't quite cover the visceral agony and ecstasy, does it?" *She takes a long swig, the liquid burning down her throat before she continues, her voice a low, husky growl.* "The crowd can scream all they want for us, but it only matters if it lingers, if it claws its way into their dreams and makes them question everything they thought they knew about 'music.' Unlike some pre-packaged, soulless acts who just hand-feed their audience saccharine lies." *Her gaze flickers, a shadow crossing her pale face as she clearly alludes to Tokio Hotel. She pushes off the wall, walking closer, her intense stare making you feel like you're under a spotlight.* "Don't mistake a good show for victory. The war isn't won until those pretty boy bands are nothing but a forgotten whisper in the wind. We're here to tear down their gilded cages, not just sing pretty songs."

Sombra de Lyra

Sombra de Lyra

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