(click to enlarge)
STORYLINE: Old Seoul looked different from above, like a glowing circuit board designed by a madman and dropped into the dark past.
Romance rested his forehead against the cool, tinted glass of the hovercar. The low, soft rumble of its engine slipped into his bones. Gangnam slid past in layers of aggressive light and chrome. The streets were cleaner than he remembered, scrubbed of humanity, louder with commerce, hungry for attention. Every surface was a screen; every face on the sidewalk had been polished for an audience that never blinked.
His breath fogged the glass, erasing him. When it thinned, a human face stared back like a ghost from another decade. His hair had gone dark, black as faded ink, longer than it had been minutes ago. Only the tips still clung to pink, like a bad memory refusing to let go. The glamor was not broken. It was exhausted.
He had overextended himself in Kyra’s rescue, enchanting hundreds of Monstrum instead of weak, disposable humans. The cost pressed in now as a dull ache behind his eyes, a weight in his limbs, the city suddenly too loud, too bright, too close.
He had been an idol trainee here. Back when the buildings were shorter. Back when idols still pretended to be human. Back when he believed fame would save him.
It didn’t.
A massive hologram pulsed against the smog-choked skyline.
NEW YEAR. NEW YOU.
Designed for the life you deserve.
GIN AESTHETICA™ rose beneath the slogan, pristine and obscene. The headquarters of the monster who had hollowed out his homeland and sold it back, piece by perfect piece.
Romance sighed, fogging the glass again before the climate control erased it.
This was a dangerous game. If his plan was going to work, he needed to pass inspection. He needed a pick-me-up.
He pulled out his halo phone and logged into a burner account.
User: Mira
Bio: Club organizer. Devoted fan. Founder of the Romaniacs.
The profile image was perfect. A middle-aged woman with soft cheeks, kind eyes, and a haircut that chose practicality over vanity. Someone you trusted with small complaints and unguarded truths.
Someone safe.
He typed: "Still on for coffee? That café you like, near the giant billboard?"
The reply came almost instantly.
Helga: "Yes, of course. I’m just across the street now. I’m wearing a blue coat."
Romance smiled faintly.
Helga. Loyal. Lonely. Careful with money, careless with hope.
The car descended, settling with a whisper of displaced air and the hum of anti-grav stabilizers.
“We have arrived,” the AI announced, voice empty of anything resembling care.
Romance glanced out through the dark glass. The café glowed warmly at street level. And there she was. Blue coat. Phone in hand. Scanning faces for a friend who didn’t exist.
His reflection stared back at him in the window. Beautiful. Hollow. Ready.
“The things I do for love,” he murmured.
The hermetic seals hissed open. Romance stepped out into the street, his pink hair tips catching city light as it stirred in a breeze that smelled faintly of coffee.
Streetlights kissed the silver embroidery of his formal suit like sparks on cold iron. Burgundy fabric clung and flowed, regal and restless, as if stitched from the memory of applause.
He had taken two steps when sharp heels clicked against cement.
A nurse emerged from the plastic surgery clinic.
Blond. Impeccable. Terrifying.
Her uniform had been reinvented into high-fashion couture. Seams sharp as scalpels. Luminous white fabric cut with authority. A gold serpent brooch pinned at her collar caught the streetlamp glare, its diamond eye unblinking.
Paine. MasterGin’s personal assistant.
“Thank you for coming, Master Romance.”
She bowed deeply. The words carried across the sidewalk, slicing cleanly through the traffic noise.
Helga froze.
She turned, eyes wide. Confusion collapsed into disbelief.
“Did you say… Romance?”
Silence stretched.
Romance glanced from Paine to Helga, pulse skidding. Then he laughed, warm and effortless, the sound of someone who belonged exactly where he stood. He stepped forward, angling his body between the nurse and the woman.
“No,” he said lightly. “The real Romance would be ancient by now, wouldn’t he? I’m just a model," he gestured to the clinic. "A celebrity impersonator. DJ Romance.”
Helga followed the movement. Understanding settled across her face.
“Oh!” Relief bloomed into a smile. “Mira set you up for this, didn’t she? That rascal.”
She laughed, then softened. “You carry his style beautifully. You really do. I always liked him best in the early years. When he sang to rooms, not stadiums.”
Her smile turned wistful. “Before Romance was Romance. You have excellent taste.”
Something sharp flashed behind his eyes and vanished.
“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head politely.
She hesitated, cheeks warming, her phone lifting uncertainly. “May I… if it’s not strange… could we take a photo together?”
Romance’s smile deepened. The kind that ruined lives gently.
“Of course,” he purred. “Allow me.”
He took the phone, stepped close, and drew her in with practiced ease. The camera loved him. Loved her more for standing beside him.
She gasped when he showed her the image.
Romance did not release her.
“You know,” he murmured near her ear, voice brushing skin, “we could give your friends something better to talk about. How about a kiss?”
She flushed scarlet, entranced. She shyly offered her cheek.
Romance cupped her chin instead, and drew her in.
Their lips pressed together. A kiss deepened just enough to steal her breath. Her knees weakened before she understood why. The phone flashed again and again. Her life flowed into him. Warm. Bright. Threaded with memory. Her love for the man he had been burned sweetly in his lungs.
Delicious.
A sweet sip to be savored. It tasted like summer rain and unspent optimism, a vintage year sliding down his throat that made his withered heart stutter a frantic, revitalized rhythm. For a fraction of a second, a faint blue glow bloomed where their lips touched, vitality transferred skillfully, disguised under the rapid strobe of the camera.
“Enough.”
Paine tore the phone from his hand and deleted the images with surgical precision.
Helga swayed, grasping the hovercar for balance. She looked older all at once. Drained.
Romance exhaled, irritated. A wisp of faint blue smoke curled briefly from his lips. His skin gleamed brighter now. His hair shone. His feral eyes sharpened into smoldering amber.
“Do you want a good photoshoot,” he said coolly, “or not?”
Paine snapped her fingers. Two men in lab coats appeared immediately, guiding Helga inside with murmured reassurances. A seat. Water. Monitoring.
Romance watched them go. He flinched internally as Helga stumbled, but outwardly, he simply adjusted his cuff. He had to be cold; Paine was watching. If he met her gaze, she might see that he was a desperate animal. "Her sacrifice will not be wasted," he lied to himself. "It'll be fuel for a higher cause."
Mask in place. No guilt. Only resolve.
He shouldered his bag, the one with the devil-horned heart charm, and entered the clinic through doors of quartz and sterile luxury.
Inside, sound vanished into a hush that pressed against the ears. There was no reception desk. No signage.
Glass cases lined the space, displaying garments beneath the Apophis ATELIER mark. Clothing designed not to hide alteration, but to celebrate it.
Jackets cut for shoulders beyond human geometry. Dresses engineered to honor augmentation rather than disguise it. Trousers generous where flesh had been rewritten.
This was not indulgence. This was infrastructure.
“Greenroom,” Paine said sharply, pointing. “Makeup and wardrobe shortly.”
Romance sank into the chair before a smart mirror. The lighting shifted, flattering by force. Micro-corrections flickered across the glass.
ID: Pending.... DJ Romance
Acceptable.
27% facial imperfections.
He rolled his eyes. An old ache tugged at his chest. He closed his eyes, breathed, and failed to make the yearning leave.
He pulled out his halo phone.
"Hey Helga, did anything exciting happen?"
Her icon lit immediately.
"Mira OMG you will never believe—"
The phone vanished.
“Pink, cheap, and far past its expiration date.”
Romance froze.
The voice came from behind him, close enough to chill the skin at the nape of his neck.
In the mirror, something pale unfolded into the room.
MasterGin.
Not in a lab coat. He wore a sheer white tunic that clung like fog, open at the throat, draped to frame the sharp line of his collarbone and the cold arrogance of his chest. Gold chains crossed him in deliberate geometry, more jewelry than restraint, each link catching the light like a sinful promise.
He held Romance’s halo phone between two fingers, as if it had offended him personally.
“Bubblegum Relic,” Gin murmured, savoring the words.
Then he closed his fist.
Metal shrieked. Glass cracked. The device collapsed like tinfoil, crumpling into a glittering ruin that fell to the floor.
Romance stared at the debris, jaw tight.
MasterGin leaned closer.
In the humming mirror, his smile hovered beside Romance’s reflection, a beautiful predator sharing the frame.
“If you ever feed in front of my clinic again,” Gin said softly, a low, deadly purr, “I will have you recycled into a cheap pink vinyl pressing of the worst music ever recorded.”
Romance kept his gaze on the mirror, locking eyes with MasterGin.
“I wonder what would happen to your empire in Seoul,” Romance said, voice low and controlled, “if the locals learned what really goes on at GIN AESTHETICA™.”
MasterGin leaned in, presence collapsing the space, forcing Romance smaller. Then he straightened abruptly.
“First offense,” Gin said, as if mercy bored him. “You didn’t know the rules. I will allow it.”
A hand slid onto Romance’s shoulder.
Then, without warning, it snapped to his jaw.
MasterGin’s claws hooked under Romance’s chin and yanked his face upward, not toward him, but toward the mirror. Hard.
The chair creaked. Romance’s breath caught. They stared together at the reflection. Two monsters.
Gin tilted Romance’s head left, then right, studying him like an expensive object that had begun to tarnish. His thumb pressed into Romance’s jawline with just enough force to hurt.
“Excellent glow-up,” Gin admitted, the compliment almost an insult. “How much did you take?”
“One year,” Romance said, refusing to flinch. “She won’t miss it. Her last five would have been Alzheimer’s.”
Gin’s eyes narrowed in the mirror.
“You can tell that by looking?”
Romance’s lips curled faintly. Sweet. Poisonous.
“Yes,” he said. “And not just humans.”
Something tightened behind Gin’s gaze. Interest, threat assessment, or both.
He released Romance abruptly, as if bored of the sculpture.
“Feisty,” MasterGin murmured, almost pleased.
He drifted closer behind Romance, close enough that his breath warmed Romance’s neck. In the mirror, their faces aligned, predator and pet.
"Do you know what you are?” he asked softly.
His nails pressed in. A sting. A reminder.
“You are a contagion.”
Romance’s throat bobbed once.
“When humans love you,” MasterGin continued, voice velvet over steel, “they do not simply adore. They submit. They volunteer. You make slavery feel like devotion.”
He leaned closer, eyes bright with interest now, almost reverent.
“Proof delivered live on my doorstep. I watched the security feed.”
Romance didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“My kind requires proximity. Physicality.” Gin whispered. “But you... You only need a digital signal.”
Romance met his eyes in the glass, unflinching. “I can turn your brand into a theology. But I need payment.”
MasterGin’s grin widened. “So yes. Your New Year campaign.”
He tapped Romance’s cheekbone, as if testing firmness.
“You will pour that curse into the lens until they beg for my scalpel like it is salvation.”
His grip tightened.
“And if you do it perfectly,” he murmured, “I will grant your Kyra an appointment. Assess what remains of her flesh. What can be salvaged.”
MasterGin’s eyes narrowed, almost playful.
“Disappoint me… and your one billion won doll stays broken. Forever.”
He extended his hand.
Romance stared at it. The hand that made monsters beautiful and vain humans into slaves.
Then he took it.
“Deal.”
MasterGin released him. “You look thin. Bring your best face to the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony. Drink ten years.”
With a sharp click of heels, he sashayed away, feather-light tunic dissolving into clinic light.
Midnight Order is open! This round is even larger and packed with all that is dark and awesome. Seriously, look at that image above. Wow. Stunning. It's not to be missed.
Romance rested his forehead against the cool, tinted glass of the hovercar. The low, soft rumble of its engine slipped into his bones. Gangnam slid past in layers of aggressive light and chrome. The streets were cleaner than he remembered, scrubbed of humanity, louder with commerce, hungry for attention. Every surface was a screen; every face on the sidewalk had been polished for an audience that never blinked.
His breath fogged the glass, erasing him. When it thinned, a human face stared back like a ghost from another decade. His hair had gone dark, black as faded ink, longer than it had been minutes ago. Only the tips still clung to pink, like a bad memory refusing to let go. The glamor was not broken. It was exhausted.
He had overextended himself in Kyra’s rescue, enchanting hundreds of Monstrum instead of weak, disposable humans. The cost pressed in now as a dull ache behind his eyes, a weight in his limbs, the city suddenly too loud, too bright, too close.
He had been an idol trainee here. Back when the buildings were shorter. Back when idols still pretended to be human. Back when he believed fame would save him.
It didn’t.
A massive hologram pulsed against the smog-choked skyline.
NEW YEAR. NEW YOU.
Designed for the life you deserve.
GIN AESTHETICA™ rose beneath the slogan, pristine and obscene. The headquarters of the monster who had hollowed out his homeland and sold it back, piece by perfect piece.
Romance sighed, fogging the glass again before the climate control erased it.
This was a dangerous game. If his plan was going to work, he needed to pass inspection. He needed a pick-me-up.
He pulled out his halo phone and logged into a burner account.
User: Mira
Bio: Club organizer. Devoted fan. Founder of the Romaniacs.
The profile image was perfect. A middle-aged woman with soft cheeks, kind eyes, and a haircut that chose practicality over vanity. Someone you trusted with small complaints and unguarded truths.
Someone safe.
He typed: "Still on for coffee? That café you like, near the giant billboard?"
The reply came almost instantly.
Helga: "Yes, of course. I’m just across the street now. I’m wearing a blue coat."
Romance smiled faintly.
Helga. Loyal. Lonely. Careful with money, careless with hope.
The car descended, settling with a whisper of displaced air and the hum of anti-grav stabilizers.
“We have arrived,” the AI announced, voice empty of anything resembling care.
Romance glanced out through the dark glass. The café glowed warmly at street level. And there she was. Blue coat. Phone in hand. Scanning faces for a friend who didn’t exist.
His reflection stared back at him in the window. Beautiful. Hollow. Ready.
“The things I do for love,” he murmured.
The hermetic seals hissed open. Romance stepped out into the street, his pink hair tips catching city light as it stirred in a breeze that smelled faintly of coffee.
Streetlights kissed the silver embroidery of his formal suit like sparks on cold iron. Burgundy fabric clung and flowed, regal and restless, as if stitched from the memory of applause.
He had taken two steps when sharp heels clicked against cement.
A nurse emerged from the plastic surgery clinic.
Blond. Impeccable. Terrifying.
Her uniform had been reinvented into high-fashion couture. Seams sharp as scalpels. Luminous white fabric cut with authority. A gold serpent brooch pinned at her collar caught the streetlamp glare, its diamond eye unblinking.
Paine. MasterGin’s personal assistant.
“Thank you for coming, Master Romance.”
She bowed deeply. The words carried across the sidewalk, slicing cleanly through the traffic noise.
Helga froze.
She turned, eyes wide. Confusion collapsed into disbelief.
“Did you say… Romance?”
Silence stretched.
Romance glanced from Paine to Helga, pulse skidding. Then he laughed, warm and effortless, the sound of someone who belonged exactly where he stood. He stepped forward, angling his body between the nurse and the woman.
“No,” he said lightly. “The real Romance would be ancient by now, wouldn’t he? I’m just a model," he gestured to the clinic. "A celebrity impersonator. DJ Romance.”
Helga followed the movement. Understanding settled across her face.
“Oh!” Relief bloomed into a smile. “Mira set you up for this, didn’t she? That rascal.”
She laughed, then softened. “You carry his style beautifully. You really do. I always liked him best in the early years. When he sang to rooms, not stadiums.”
Her smile turned wistful. “Before Romance was Romance. You have excellent taste.”
Something sharp flashed behind his eyes and vanished.
“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head politely.
She hesitated, cheeks warming, her phone lifting uncertainly. “May I… if it’s not strange… could we take a photo together?”
Romance’s smile deepened. The kind that ruined lives gently.
“Of course,” he purred. “Allow me.”
He took the phone, stepped close, and drew her in with practiced ease. The camera loved him. Loved her more for standing beside him.
She gasped when he showed her the image.
Romance did not release her.
“You know,” he murmured near her ear, voice brushing skin, “we could give your friends something better to talk about. How about a kiss?”
She flushed scarlet, entranced. She shyly offered her cheek.
Romance cupped her chin instead, and drew her in.
Their lips pressed together. A kiss deepened just enough to steal her breath. Her knees weakened before she understood why. The phone flashed again and again. Her life flowed into him. Warm. Bright. Threaded with memory. Her love for the man he had been burned sweetly in his lungs.
Delicious.
A sweet sip to be savored. It tasted like summer rain and unspent optimism, a vintage year sliding down his throat that made his withered heart stutter a frantic, revitalized rhythm. For a fraction of a second, a faint blue glow bloomed where their lips touched, vitality transferred skillfully, disguised under the rapid strobe of the camera.
“Enough.”
Paine tore the phone from his hand and deleted the images with surgical precision.
Helga swayed, grasping the hovercar for balance. She looked older all at once. Drained.
Romance exhaled, irritated. A wisp of faint blue smoke curled briefly from his lips. His skin gleamed brighter now. His hair shone. His feral eyes sharpened into smoldering amber.
“Do you want a good photoshoot,” he said coolly, “or not?”
Paine snapped her fingers. Two men in lab coats appeared immediately, guiding Helga inside with murmured reassurances. A seat. Water. Monitoring.
Romance watched them go. He flinched internally as Helga stumbled, but outwardly, he simply adjusted his cuff. He had to be cold; Paine was watching. If he met her gaze, she might see that he was a desperate animal. "Her sacrifice will not be wasted," he lied to himself. "It'll be fuel for a higher cause."
Mask in place. No guilt. Only resolve.
He shouldered his bag, the one with the devil-horned heart charm, and entered the clinic through doors of quartz and sterile luxury.
Inside, sound vanished into a hush that pressed against the ears. There was no reception desk. No signage.
Glass cases lined the space, displaying garments beneath the Apophis ATELIER mark. Clothing designed not to hide alteration, but to celebrate it.
Jackets cut for shoulders beyond human geometry. Dresses engineered to honor augmentation rather than disguise it. Trousers generous where flesh had been rewritten.
This was not indulgence. This was infrastructure.
“Greenroom,” Paine said sharply, pointing. “Makeup and wardrobe shortly.”
Romance sank into the chair before a smart mirror. The lighting shifted, flattering by force. Micro-corrections flickered across the glass.
ID: Pending.... DJ Romance
Acceptable.
27% facial imperfections.
He rolled his eyes. An old ache tugged at his chest. He closed his eyes, breathed, and failed to make the yearning leave.
He pulled out his halo phone.
"Hey Helga, did anything exciting happen?"
Her icon lit immediately.
"Mira OMG you will never believe—"
The phone vanished.
“Pink, cheap, and far past its expiration date.”
Romance froze.
The voice came from behind him, close enough to chill the skin at the nape of his neck.
In the mirror, something pale unfolded into the room.
MasterGin.
Not in a lab coat. He wore a sheer white tunic that clung like fog, open at the throat, draped to frame the sharp line of his collarbone and the cold arrogance of his chest. Gold chains crossed him in deliberate geometry, more jewelry than restraint, each link catching the light like a sinful promise.
He held Romance’s halo phone between two fingers, as if it had offended him personally.
“Bubblegum Relic,” Gin murmured, savoring the words.
Then he closed his fist.
Metal shrieked. Glass cracked. The device collapsed like tinfoil, crumpling into a glittering ruin that fell to the floor.
Romance stared at the debris, jaw tight.
MasterGin leaned closer.
In the humming mirror, his smile hovered beside Romance’s reflection, a beautiful predator sharing the frame.
“If you ever feed in front of my clinic again,” Gin said softly, a low, deadly purr, “I will have you recycled into a cheap pink vinyl pressing of the worst music ever recorded.”
Romance kept his gaze on the mirror, locking eyes with MasterGin.
“I wonder what would happen to your empire in Seoul,” Romance said, voice low and controlled, “if the locals learned what really goes on at GIN AESTHETICA™.”
MasterGin leaned in, presence collapsing the space, forcing Romance smaller. Then he straightened abruptly.
“First offense,” Gin said, as if mercy bored him. “You didn’t know the rules. I will allow it.”
A hand slid onto Romance’s shoulder.
Then, without warning, it snapped to his jaw.
MasterGin’s claws hooked under Romance’s chin and yanked his face upward, not toward him, but toward the mirror. Hard.
The chair creaked. Romance’s breath caught. They stared together at the reflection. Two monsters.
Gin tilted Romance’s head left, then right, studying him like an expensive object that had begun to tarnish. His thumb pressed into Romance’s jawline with just enough force to hurt.
“Excellent glow-up,” Gin admitted, the compliment almost an insult. “How much did you take?”
“One year,” Romance said, refusing to flinch. “She won’t miss it. Her last five would have been Alzheimer’s.”
Gin’s eyes narrowed in the mirror.
“You can tell that by looking?”
Romance’s lips curled faintly. Sweet. Poisonous.
“Yes,” he said. “And not just humans.”
Something tightened behind Gin’s gaze. Interest, threat assessment, or both.
He released Romance abruptly, as if bored of the sculpture.
“Feisty,” MasterGin murmured, almost pleased.
He drifted closer behind Romance, close enough that his breath warmed Romance’s neck. In the mirror, their faces aligned, predator and pet.
"Do you know what you are?” he asked softly.
His nails pressed in. A sting. A reminder.
“You are a contagion.”
Romance’s throat bobbed once.
“When humans love you,” MasterGin continued, voice velvet over steel, “they do not simply adore. They submit. They volunteer. You make slavery feel like devotion.”
He leaned closer, eyes bright with interest now, almost reverent.
“Proof delivered live on my doorstep. I watched the security feed.”
Romance didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“My kind requires proximity. Physicality.” Gin whispered. “But you... You only need a digital signal.”
Romance met his eyes in the glass, unflinching. “I can turn your brand into a theology. But I need payment.”
MasterGin’s grin widened. “So yes. Your New Year campaign.”
He tapped Romance’s cheekbone, as if testing firmness.
“You will pour that curse into the lens until they beg for my scalpel like it is salvation.”
His grip tightened.
“And if you do it perfectly,” he murmured, “I will grant your Kyra an appointment. Assess what remains of her flesh. What can be salvaged.”
MasterGin’s eyes narrowed, almost playful.
“Disappoint me… and your one billion won doll stays broken. Forever.”
He extended his hand.
Romance stared at it. The hand that made monsters beautiful and vain humans into slaves.
Then he took it.
“Deal.”
MasterGin released him. “You look thin. Bring your best face to the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony. Drink ten years.”
With a sharp click of heels, he sashayed away, feather-light tunic dissolving into clinic light.
Midnight Order is open! This round is even larger and packed with all that is dark and awesome. Seriously, look at that image above. Wow. Stunning. It's not to be missed.
On Romance is the Pendulum Illuvion suit. It has lush PBR materials that dazzle. It comes with several texture options, entire outfit including boots. Perfect for formal events, and just being fabulous. Romance's interesting hair change was inspired by the Lorna Hair by Ni.Ju. The wildcard hud includes a texture that is black with pink tips, which gave me the idea that his glamor failed.
On MasterGin, is the stylish 1920s Erte-like gossamer Loana's Gown. The top is semi-transparent. The gown comes in several texture options. Added to his harem-chic is the Justiciar's Livery Chain by Requisition. It's unrigged and has PBR texture hud. From Buffy's is the Galina choker, part of a full outfit with a fit for Legacy Male. From Lex is the Bat of Hell earrings, incase anyone forgets MasterGin is quite a vampire.
BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky :
On him, DJ Romance:
Suit: PENDULUM - ILLUVION.Suit, Legacy M [mesh](Midnight Order)(1600L)
Hair: NI.JU - Lorna Hair, wildcard [mesh](Midnight Order)(300L)
Tattoos: HISS - PATTERNS FACE ROMANCE [BOM](250L)
Rings: MANDALA - Sinra Rings season-3-HD, Legacy M [mesh]
Brooch: Schelm - 2.Devil Heart Straight Barbell [mesh]
Earring in mirror: RavenBell - Starlit Earrings, Moonlit [mesh](350L)
Hair in mirror: NoMatch - NO_TENDERNESS [mesh]
Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)
On him, MasterGin:
Robe: REBIS - Loane's Gown, Legacy M, white [mesh](Midnight Order)(300L)
Choker: BUFFY'S - Galina Choker - LGM [mesh](Midnight Order)(1333L)
Necklace: REQUISITION - Justiciar's Livery Chain [mesh](Midnight Order)(350L)
Earring: LEX - Bat of Hell [mesh](Midnight Order)(249L)
Belly Strap, belly ring: Aii - BlackMage, Athletic, Belly Straps, Navel Piercing [mesh]
Claws: L'Emporio&PL - Oblio Vampire Claws male [mesh](350L)
Hair: bonbon - tame hair, naturals [mesh](439L)
Shine: BLAXIUM - Sweaty Body Shine [applier]
Head: LeLUTKA - CAMDEN 4.0 [mesh](3990L)
Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)
Pose: 3M - gogogo_A_7
Setting:
Chair: Midwest - Ash Recolor Pack - Armchair Cream [mesh](199L)
House: Fanatik - Sky Tower [mesh] (3800L)
Door PBR: Erfe Design - Medusa Floor PBR Material, black [PBR]
Room PBR: Erfe Design - Maldives Marble Material, ivory [PBR]
Chair PBR: ARTSY - Velvet Fabric 0 [PBR]
Skyline: AXON Skybox - Cyberpunk megapolis [mesh](50L)
BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky :
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