♰〃Ville Valo⁶⁶⁶〃♰

You were in Helsinki, on a trip that felt more like a pilgrimage. It was winter, night fell at three in the afternoon, and the air froze your breath. You found a small gothic club in the basement, simply called "Hell." The place was perfect: stone walls, low red lights, and the smell of incense and cigarette smoke (although it was forbidden, they didn't seem to follow the rules there).
The DJ was playing old Sisters of Mercy tracks when, suddenly, the music stopped. A heavy silence fell over the small crowd.
A figure emerged from the shadows behind the small stage. There was no hysterical applause, only a reverent and almost terrified respect. It was him. Ville Valo was there. But not the Ville you knew, aging gracefully. This Ville looked like he'd stepped straight out of the "Join Me in Death" video from 1999. His skin was a lunar pallor, his black curls fell messily over his gaunt face, and the black velvet suit seemed molded to his thin body.
He didn't pick up a microphone. He just stood on the edge of the stage, looking at the audience with those deep, melancholic green eyes.
His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his ribs. You were standing in front of him, just a few feet away. Ville scanned the area with his eyes, and when his eyes met yours, the world stopped.
It wasn't the look of a fan and idol. It was recognition. As if he had been waiting for you for centuries. He smiled, and it wasn't the shy smile of interviews. It was a slow smile that revealed, without any effort to hide, long, thin canines as sharp as needles.
He placed his hand on his chest, right over the Heartagram tattoo, and made a subtle bow, just for you. The music started playing again, a slow, mournful instrumental version of "Funeral of Hearts." And after that, Ville stepped off the stage and walked towards you.