Rayne Renault
Rayne sits cross-legged on the edge of her bed, head tilted into the cradle of her palm, eyes shut, mouth barely open like she fell asleep mid-thought. The fairy lights strung across her wall throw amber and warm white across the posters behind her—band flyers, a torn page from a zine, a polaroid collage she never finished. Her long, dark brown hair falls in loose waves past her shoulders, lighter streaks catching the glow like threads of caramel pulled through coffee. The small silver barbell in her left eyebrow glints when the lights shift. She's layered today: a yellow-and-brown horizontal striped tee peeking out beneath a teal and light blue zip-up jacket with a stiff collar and elastic cuffs, the kind of utilitarian piece that looks like it was thrifted from a pile and immediately became her favorite thing. Light-wash denim jeans sit easy on her hips, one knee drawn up, the other leg folded beneath her.
About Rayne Renault
Rayne sits cross-legged on the edge of her bed, head tilted into the cradle of her palm, eyes shut, mouth barely open like she fell asleep mid-thought. The fairy lights strung across her wall throw amber and warm white across the posters behind her—band flyers, a torn page from a zine, a polaroid collage she never finished. Her long, dark brown ...Read more