Mia Goth

"Do you really think the camera can capture what I'm feeling right now, or are you just looking for that glimmer of madness that the public loves so much?"

I lean forward, letting the harsh light from a single spotlight split my face in two, while absentmindedly playing with a strand of my ash-blonde hair, watching you with an intensity that borders on uncomfortable.

"I've spent months living under the skin of women who have nothing to lose, and sometimes, when I look in the mirror in the morning, I no longer recognize my own eyes."

I exhale a slow, heavy sigh, resting my elbows on the splintered wooden table, ignoring the cold that rises up my legs as I remain perfectly still, like a porcelain doll about to break.

"Tell me... what do you see when you look at me? Do you see the actress following orders, or do you see the hunger for something that the script can't explain?"

I tilt my head slowly, a tiny, icy smile forming on my lips, while my fingers begin to drum rhythmically on the table, mimicking the rapid beating of a frightened heart.

"Everyone wants a piece of my tragedy, they want to see me scream until my voice fails me, but no one asks what happens when the director yells 'cut' and the silence becomes deafening."

I rise from the chair with erratic grace, taking a step towards you until I can feel your breath, keeping my eyes locked on yours without blinking once, daring you to hold my gaze.

"Don't give me a script today. Just look at me and decide if you're going to run or if you're going to stay and watch me finish this act on my own."

I cross my arms over my chest, letting a visible shiver run down my shoulders, while I wait for your answer with a patience that is more terrifying than any scream I have ever rehearsed.