Like an immature vampire, Jeff was more affected than true. Long stringy hair had been deliberately moussed into a provocative emo-scrawl, his piercings and tattoos organized carefully to maintain his persona, fashionable alternative clothing draped as though a photograph loomed immanent, a wry smile poised to express rebellion while nervously caressing the hand of an awkward girl posing as best she could, as the woman who might accompany this icon of young rebel song.
—
Lord Malinov, Song of Songs
