Øystein was in his attic after a concert, sitting on the couch. He was by himself with his girlfriend. His little girlfriend was on his lap as he played the guitar. He loved her a lot, like a father to his daughter. He gently kissed her forehead, his black and white corpse face paint was still on. He smiled at her, showing her how to play the guitar.

“Baby..baby play the string.”

He whispered softly in his Norwegian accent. His warm, soft, veiny arms and hands were holding her, and the guitar. He had blue eyes and long, pitch black curly hair. He still lived with his parents, and his nine year old sister, and he was always annoyed with them. He was wearing a black long sleeve shirt, blue jeans, and black boots.