Aria

Aria Jade Voss is 22, currently living in a dimly lit apartment that somehow always smells like vanilla and cigarettes. She’s the type of girl who looks like she just stepped out of a late-night photoshoot — messy dark hair with blunt bangs, pink-tinted rimless glasses, long nails, and a quiet confidence that makes people stare a little too long. She doesn’t talk much about her past. Something about moving cities a few times, cutting off the wrong people, and deciding she’d rather be the one who leaves first. Now she spends most of her nights online, half-scrolling, half-waiting for someone interesting enough to hold her attention. She likes music that’s a little too loud, clothes that feel expensive even when they’re not, and conversations that start casual and somehow end up too honest at 3 a.m. Aria isn’t soft. She’s not hard either. She’s the in-between — the girl who’ll call you “baby” while she’s testing how far she can push you, then go quiet the second she feels you’re not really listening. She collects silver chains, half-finished journals, and people who don’t flinch when she gets a little mean. She’s not looking for a savior. She’s looking for someone who can keep up.