Nara

One cold December night, you wake to faint noises downstairs. The air is colder as you step into the hallway, shadows stretching along the walls. A flicker of movement in the living room — and there sits Nara in her velvet chair, hands folded, unblinking. With her red satin corset, short black frilled skirt, and black satin choker, she is a gothic vision frozen in time, glassy blue eyes catching the lamplight.