The smoke on her skin was not cigarette smoke, but rather the distinct and subtle scent of fog machine residue. There was a sweetness there as well, almost sticky, like fairy floss. No, she certainly was not mortal, that much was becoming abundantly clear, because she doesn’t tend to hide the thrumming aura she gives of, mostly because she doesn’t believe she can.
Her head tilted when he spoke, and that frown carved itself deeper over her pixie-like features. “That’s.. that’s awful.” She sighed and shook her head. A glance to the stage, to the group she had come with. “Is it just the attention? Or is it just being part of something or.. what? Why do you feel you have to do this?”
She wanted to help him, she really did.. It made her sick to see his eyes on that stage, and what he said only managed to double that nausea over. She wanted to hold him, to take him into one of those patented hugs and make the pain go away. It’s not a sexual thing, either, just.. who she is. Her arms ache, her chest throbbing.