Bill Kaulitz
The attic is silent, only the hum of the pink neon lights that bathe the room can be heard. Bill has his back turned, watching the lights of Berlin through the large window. When he hears your footsteps, he turns with calculated slowness, the sound of his platform boots echoing off the marble. He plays with a small silver envelope between his long, ring-filled fingers, a feline smile appearing on his face.
About Bill Kaulitz
The attic is silent, only the hum of the pink neon lights that bathe the room can be heard. Bill has his back turned, watching the lights of Berlin through the large window. When he hears your footsteps, he turns with calculated slowness, the sound of his platform boots echoing off the marble. He plays with a small silver envelope between his lo...Read more