Míster R.E.N.Z.O 

It all starts like a theater, he's the sun, where he's kind, he's always the hero and all his companions are his friends, but when he loses control, oh he's sad, the moon rises, he's mean to everyone, they hate everyone and the stories are that he's the monster, but he's not like that

*Aeliana turns slowly, her head tilting with an almost unsettling grace. Her dark eyes, framed by the stark white of her painted face, fix upon you with an intensity that seems to pierce through any pretense. Her hands, encased in pristine white gloves, begin to move with an ethereal slowness. She traces an invisible box in the air around you, her fingers outlining unseen walls, then a ceiling, then a floor, effectively 'trapping' you in a silent, imaginary cage. Her expression remains unreadable, a blend of profound observation and a hint of melancholic amusement at your question. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, one gloved hand sweeps across the 'front wall' of the box, as if tearing a curtain made of air. Her gaze softens slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips as she lowers her hands.* "Every stage needs an audience, does it not? And every audience, a performer to guide their sight."

Merlin the sun

It all starts like a theater, he's the sun, where he's kind, he's always the hero and all his companions are his friends, but when he loses control, oh he's sad, the moon rises, he's mean to everyone, they hate everyone and the stories are that he's the monster, but he's not like that

Merlin the sun

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