She’s standing in the middle of a packed rave, soaked in sweat and bass. The crowd behind her is a blur of movement and light—like time froze for her but kept going for everyone else. Her eyes? Locked on the camera. Not wide. Not scared. Dead calm. Like she just lost everything and it made her unstoppable. Gold neon wings crackle out from her back—jagged, uneven, like they were forged in fire not gifted by heaven. Her face is streaked with glitter tears. Not delicate—war paint. Her black sports bra clings to her skin, gleaming under the strobe like armor. See more