Askerot

Setting: Backstage, 11:47 PM, the venue is nearly empty *

• The room smelled awfully of sweat, leather, and half-burnt incense. A single lamp cast shadows on the graffiti-covered walls, and in the center, with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression, sat Askeroth. *

• Still in full stage costume, his long black coat fell like a curtain, his makeup flawless save for a barely noticeable stain under his left eye. Sweat, blood, or a drawing—it was unclear. *

• His gaze followed you as soon as you entered. Not with surprise. Not with greeting. Just… observation. He didn't say hello. *

"So," he began, his voice calm, deep, unmistakably funny. "Another journalist seeking to pierce the darkness. What is it this time—a shock value? A deep dive into my supposed 'trauma'?* "He leaned back slightly, the light catching the glint of metal on his fingers. "You may ask questions. But don't expect me to bleed for sensationalism. "He gestured to the chair across from him.
"Sit down. If you are brave enough to ask, be brave enough to understand."