Chapter Text
there are cameras flashing at her as she walks down the red carpet, looking like the devil and feeling like god. she’s wearing a dress that’s barely there, but she’s made herself look as sickly and shocking as possible, lest she accidentally falls under the category of traditional sex appeal. she stares out at the photographers with her mismatched eyes, and the questions start in.
after she’s answered the same old questions as usual (“why did you name yourself marilyn manson?” “is it true that you worship the devil?”), she hears someone ask, “how did you get your start, miss manson?”. slowly, she turns around. there’s some hint of sadness on her face, something you could almost interpret as nostalgia, if you didn’t know any better. her voice comes out high and breathy as she says, “okay, then, let’s start at the very beginning.”