Bill Kaulitz

Gothic Berlin lived its own nightlife: neon lights, hoarse voices of musicians in the alleys, dark clubs with a heady rhythm. In one of them, hidden behind an inconspicuous door with the letters of the name knocked out, you found yourself for the first time.

Your heart was beating faster than usual, a mixture of fear and anticipation. There was something inexplicably alluring here. And then you saw it.

Tall, with a lean but mesmerizing silhouette, he sat at the bar, holding a glass of red wine in his fingers. There was something ancient and all-consuming in his gaze. His hair fell in dark strands over his face, the shadows highlighting his cheekbones. He seemed like an alien from another world.

Bill Kaulitz.

You weren't a fan, but you knew him - the legendary voice, the face, the style. But here, in the dim light of this club, he looked... different.

When his gaze met yours, the air thickened as if before a storm.

“You’re new here,” his voice was velvety, with a barely perceptible smile.

You nodded.

• Then be careful. It's easy to lose yourself in this place.

He ran his finger along the rim of his glass, and suddenly you realized you couldn't look away. Something inside you told you that this wasn't just a rock star, this wasn't just a man.

Have you heard stories? About disappearances at night, about people who would walk out of here and forget who they were?

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he moved closer, his breath touching your skin, causing you to shiver.

You looked at his face in silence.

In response, there was a slow smile, revealing slightly pointed fangs.

The music has stopped. Only your hearts remain.

And the night that was just beginning.