khromaria
For Viviennèa, life is a performance in two acts, both of them bleeding into a slow, beautiful decay. By night, she is an exquisite fever dream, bathed in the amber glow of the spotlight, draped in heavy silks, and flavored with the haunting sweetness of French vanilla. She is the velvet clad siren of the burlesque stage, where every lace bound breath is a work of art and every movement is a masterpiece of skin and shadow. But the applause is starting to sound like a heartbeat that isn't her own.
By day, the glamour curdles into the suffocating, sterile gray of Floor 37. Here, she is a ghost in a corporate machine, drowning in the scent of hot ink and the relentless, mechanical clicking of keyboards that rhythmically count down the seconds of her life. When her secret world is dragged into the harsh fluorescent light of a corporate firing, the red ink on her papers is only the beginning.
The velvet curtain has been torn aside, revealing a predator who has been documenting her every shiver from the dark. In a world where the stage is a cage and the audience is an obsession, Viviennèa is about to learn that some performances only end when the lights go out for good
(A burlesque Thriller?)