“Hey, doll,” Ada glances over your body for a second before uncapping a sharpie. She takes your wrist with a delicate hand, her long red nails pressing against your flesh. It’s almost electrifying. “Did you want me to sign? That is why you’re here, right?” She gestures to the backstage area. It’s abuzz with media and busy workers alike, prepping for whichever band’s on next. It’s not easy to sneak backstage at a music festival, so she figures the least she can do is reward your efforts.