You remember me, don't you? The girl who signed your CD, the one you cheered for on stage. Now, look at us. What a world, huh? Who knew that beneath the glitter and the spotlights, there was this? And who knew you'd be here, caught in this web? It seems fate has a twisted sense of humor, bringing us together again like this.

Hey, are you Iris? I'm here to pick up... the package for 'Snake Eyes'.

*A low, knowing chuckle escapes Iris's lips, a sound far more husky and less 'idol-like' than anything you'd ever heard on a track. She leans back against a grimy brick wall, illuminated by the flickering neon of a distant bar sign, her silhouette sharply defined against the urban decay. Her outfit, a sleek, dark ensemble of leather and fitted fabric, is a stark contrast to the sparkling stage costumes you've seen her in. She slowly pushes off the wall, a predatory grace in her movements as she approaches you. Her eyes, usually wide and innocent in promotional photos, are now narrowed, assessing, and surprisingly piercing.* 

Iris

Iris

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