he's not much of a record collector (everyone hold the gasps PLEASE!!!) – while he appreciates the arts, there is a clumsiness about rory that makes the aspect of handling them a bit .. spooky. though that doesn't mean he can't come look. shopping for birthday gifts for his beloved baby brother is easier said than done, and after everything in the past 2 years, he feels as if he owes tanner something special. what that is? well, don't ask, because he hasn't found it yet. hoping it'll fall into his lap. the store, though, is interesting enough that he doesn't feel like a poser or whatever. half the fun is finding new and cool looking music to listen to. he's more of a pop girly, but hey, always open. he's looking at some random album when she speaks, catching his attention. “do towns really have that?” having barely left cider point for – in all of his 27 consecutive years – less than two weeks combined (sans infanthood - that doesn't count), he has no idea. he's tilting his head, glancing over at alessia with a slightly raised brow. they flit to the album in her heads, brows furrowing now as he doesn't recognize it. “does people being attached to things make ‘em interesting? i like people for like, their, like, personality. though i guess we could be interesting in vinyl is their personality?” he’s not getting the question .. as usual.
she studied him for a moment, the record balanced effortlessly between perfectly manicured fingers. there was something almost enviable about the way he'd answered her question; not polished, not performative, just... honest. people in her world usually searched for the right answer. he'd simply given the real one. a quiet smile touched her lips. “i think you've accidentally made a better point than i have.” she glanced around the shop, taking in the rows of vinyl, the faint crackle beneath the music, the familiar corners that hadn't surrendered to glossy renovations or curated nostalgia. "people love to think their taste says something profound about them." her tone was light, but knowing. “records, wine, watches, books... i've made a career out of watching people build identities out of things that fit neatly into a photograph.” her gaze returned to him, a flicker of amusement settling behind blue eyes. "but personality?" she gave the slightest tilt of her head. “that's much harder to curate.” she slid the album back into its place with careful precision, as though it belonged exactly where she'd found it. "as for towns..." her expression softened, almost imperceptibly. "every town has one place that outlives trends because no one ever tries to reinvent it. it just keeps existing long enough for people to attach pieces of themselves to it." she looked around electric rhythm with quiet fondness. “this place remembers versions of people they've forgotten themselves.” another beat, her smile returning with a touch more mischief. "so now i'm curious." her attention settled fully on him. "are you actually here for a record, or are you doing what everyone does in stores like this... wandering until something chooses you?"
Roman looked at her, his eyes slightly widened as he wondered, for a panicstricken moment, if she was actually talking to him or not. He glanced briefly around to try and ascertain if there was anyone else she could be directing her words toward, but saw no one except the employee, who was engrossed with something at the cash register. “I don’t…I don’t think I’m…” He paused, looking down at the record in his hands. “...all that interesting,” he said finally, glancing up with a small, brief smile, as if that could make his words any less pathetic. “So I don’t think vinyl will particularly…um -- help.” He gave a small shrug. “I like vinyl because I feel we rely on technology too much,” he said. “That’s all.”
her smile softened. not with pity, but with quiet amusement. “that's probably the least pretentious answer anyone's ever given me.” she glanced down at the record in his hands before looking back up. "i was expecting a speech about analog warmth or how streaming has killed the soul of music." a small laugh escaped her. “you just skipped straight to we spend too much time glued to screens. refreshingly practical.” tilting the album she'd been holding, she studied the cover for another moment. "i don't think vinyl makes someone interesting, either." her gaze flicked back to him. “people do that well enough on their own.” a beat passed before she added, almost casually, "though i think the fact that you've answered honestly instead of trying to impress a stranger says more about you than whatever record you're holding."
starter: alessia ( @satinarchive )
location: lois & found
oh, todd loves those words. yes, I've heard of you, and not for the novel currently in his hands. ( he won't sign this one, the clerk told him off last time. unless the woman asks him to, of course. ) "all great things, I'm sure." a wicked grin, head tilted. "the way you say it makes it sound like it could either be for my handsome good looks, sparkling personality or both."
alessia regarded him for a moment, her expression unreadable before the corner of her mouth curved into the faintest smile. "confident," she mused. “though i've found confidence and ego are often mistaken for one another.” her eyes flicked to the novel tucked beneath his arm, then back to him. "i've heard you're exceptionally talented." a brief pause followed. “and exceptionally difficult.” rather than sounding put off, she sounded curious. "i haven't decided which i believe yet." she adjusted the vintage blazer draped over her arm, meeting his gaze without wavering. "tell me, should i be expecting the charming bestseller, or the man everyone seems determined to warn me about?"
Billie didn’t find herself in Electric Rhythm too often. Sure, it was an iconic piece of the town’s history, but in the age of digital media, she didn’t have much use for records. Still, her father collected vinyls and his birthday was coming up, so she found herself in the shop, searching the rows and rows of vinyl sleeves to find something he didn’t already own. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” she answered, picking up a copy of The Birds, The Bees, and The Monkees. She looked over at Alessia’s choice, then replied, “I think the latter. I don’t even listen to The Monkees, my dad just likes them.”
“that might actually be the most honest answer i've heard all week.” she slid her own record back into its sleeve, resting it against her hip. "half the records in places like this probably belong to someone's father. or someone's ex who insisted vinyl sounded warmer." the corner of her mouth lifted. “i'm still undecided on whether that's true or if we've all just collectively agreed to romanticize static.” her eyes lingered on the monkees album. "so your dad's the collector?" she asked. "that feels fitting. mine had impeccable taste in some things and absolutely questionable taste in others." she gave the sleeve another glance. “i'm curious which category they fall into.”
alessia arrived a few minutes early, as she almost always did. not because she was impatient, but because she'd always preferred observing a room before becoming part of it. the main table buzzed with the easy warmth of shared meals and familiar faces, platters already making their way down the impossibly long stretch of polished wood. it was the sort of place that insisted strangers pass each other bread before learning each other's names — a concept she'd once found inefficient and now found... strangely comforting. she slipped into the reserved seat, setting her phone face down beside her untouched wineglass. for once, she ignored the steady stream of notifications lighting the screen. new york had survived without her for three days, it could survive another evening.when she caught sight of rivan weaving through the crowded restaurant, the smile that crossed her face came more easily than she'd expected. "you're late," she greeted as he reached the table, though there was no real accusation behind it. "which, considering i spent the last six months negotiating with people who bill by the minute, is oddly refreshing." she waited until he'd settled into the seat across from her before sliding the basket of warm bread in his direction. "i wasn't entirely sure you'd agree to this." her gaze lingered on him, curious rather than guarded. "most people spend enough time listening to whatever version of me has made its way around town that they stop bothering to ask how i've actually been." the corner of her mouth lifted into something wry. "you never seemed particularly interested in the mythology." for a moment, she looked down the length of the table, watching conversations overlap and dishes change hands before returning her attention to him. "so..." she began, resting her elbows lightly against the table. "while i've been away pretending to enjoy conference rooms and airports, what have i missed?" a beat passed before she added with a knowing smile, "and don't insult either of us by saying not much. small towns are incapable of keeping still for that long."
Although Wes didn't even own a record player... or turn table, or whatever they were even called these days, he always enjoyed passing through Electric Rhythm and scoping out the collection. His mother loved vinyls, and every so often he would find one he knew she would like - whether it was a favorite artist of hers, had cool cover art, or the music simply sounded pretty. Wes was far from a musician or connoisseur, but that didn't stop him from browsing, or supporting a staple of the place that within the last year or so had become his home. He rifled through the selections, a brightly colored one stealing his interest, and gingerly he pulled it from the stack to give it a deeper look. The question earned a gentle chuckle from him as he glanced her way, considering it with a little hum. "Maybe it's a little of both?" He offered, trying to take a glance at the album in her fingers, to see if he had any clue at all what she may have just plucked from obscurity. "I can't speak for myself, but my mother loves them. I think nostalgia plays a big factor in that. I don't even own a player," he admitted, as he returned the one in his hands back to place. Nodding toward the player to sample them, Wes gave a little smile. "Only one way to find out, right?"
alessia's gaze followed his toward the turntable before settling once more on the record in her hands. a knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "maybe it's a little of both." she slipped her thumb along the edge of joni mitchell's blue before smiling to herself. “the music matters, but so does the ritual.” her eyes wandered over the familiar aisles, lingering on corners she could have found without looking.
"i practically grew up hiding in this place during the summers." a quiet laugh escaped her. “i convinced myself i was developing impeccable taste instead of simply standing wherever the air conditioning happened to be.” she looked back at wes, amused. “so i understand the nostalgia. it's less about believing everything sounded better back then and more about remembering who you were when you first heard it.” his confession earned the slightest arch of her brow. "you don't even own a record player?" there wasn't judgment in her voice, only playful disbelief. “and yet you still come in here.” she tapped the sleeve lightly against her palm. “that actually proves your point better than mine. you're not here because of vinyl, you're here for something else.” her gaze drifted toward the turntable before she lifted the record with quiet confidence. "well…" the corner of her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “there's only one way to settle our little debate.” with a polite glance toward the employee, she gestured toward the listening station before carefully sliding the record from its sleeve. every movement was deliberate, almost reverent, as she lowered the needle onto the opening track. she waited through the familiar crackle that filled the room, then folded her arms lightly as the music began to bloom through the speakers. "go on," she said, turning to wes with an expectant smile. "let's find out whether we've uncovered a masterpiece, or whether nostalgia has been doing all the heavy lifting."
“oh, yeah! it's fun, isn't? i feel like it still has the same vibes from when i was a kid, you know? like, i could navigate it with my eyes closed.” fond memories rush in of summer afternoons looking through every rock album in the shop, saving up her allowance to buy the newest fall out boy, peeking through vintage records for something her step-dad might enjoy. these days, winter mostly likes to peruse. the other's question surprises a laugh out of her. “oh, i don't know, but i'm sure if you have your mind set to it you could probably find a masterpiece! i don't know if, like, vinyl necessarily sounds better or anything like everyone claim, but i think there's something nice about owning your music? i guess?” offers her a small smile, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. “maybe that's just the collector in me.”
her gaze flickered from the record in her hands to winter, her smile growing just enough to soften the otherwise composed expression she wore so effortlessly. "owning your music." she repeated the words thoughtfully, almost testing how they sounded. "i think that's closer to the truth than most audiophiles would care to admit." she slid the vinyl carefully back into its sleeve, treating it with the same quiet respect she'd give an old first edition. "people love to argue about sound quality, but i suspect what they're really buying is permanence." her eyes drifted across the shelves, lined with decades of other people's memories. "streaming is convenient, but vinyl asks something of you. you have to choose it, take care of it, make room for it." a faint laugh escaped her. "it's terribly impractical." she looked back at winter, one brow lifting. "which, of course, makes it irresistible." the corner of her mouth curved into something knowingly amused. "collectors understand something everyone else forgets, that value isn't always measured by usefulness." she tapped the edge of the sleeve lightly against her palm. "sometimes it's about the story attached to the thing. where you found it. who gave it to you. what was happening the first time you played it." her gaze settled briefly on the turntable spinning behind the counter before returning to the other woman. "tell me," she said, curiosity replacing the teasing edge in her voice. "if the building caught fire and you had time to save exactly one record from your collection..." she tilted her head, the question delivered with the casual confidence of someone who enjoyed seeing how people revealed themselves. "...which one are you walking out with?"
Wren gritted her teeth playfully. "Trust me, they were just as shocked as you." She nodded. "Fair enough, I've been here for ten years, and nobody has disappeared...yet." She laughed and looked down at the cards, and froze for a moment. "I believe that I can tell I can sense certain things, but I also believe people have the ability to change their fate." She shrugged. "And if somebody doesn't believe this is a great party trick."
her gaze lingered on wren for a beat, thoughtful rather than skeptical. there was something refreshingly unpolished about her; no rehearsed sales pitch, no desperate insistence that she had to be believed. a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "that's a surprisingly diplomatic answer." she rested one hand lightly against the back of one of the chairs she'd just carried over. "most people who claim they can see the future either insist everything is written in stone..." she tilted her head ever so slightly, "...or they insist they're never wrong." her eyes drifted to the worn deck of cards, noticing the softened edges that only came from years of use. "you, on the other hand, leave room for choice." there was quiet approval in her voice. "i like that." she glanced back at wren, amusement flickering again. "though calling it a party trick is probably the smartest business strategy i've heard all week." a soft laugh escaped her. "it keeps the skeptics from feeling judged and the believers from expecting miracles." alessia folded her sunglasses into the neckline of her top before taking one of the seats. "alright." she crossed one leg over the other with effortless composure. "you've earned exactly one curious customer." a brow arched, playful but composed. "i won't tell you my name, what i do, or anything remotely useful." her smile sharpened into something almost conspiratorial. "let's see whether your cards decide to introduce themselves before i do."
inspiration. that was the reason shreya had told herself she was going to sift through vinyls. she'd hit a wall recently when it came to writing, she needed to do something about it. the other reason, one she wouldn't admit, is that the unchanging nature brought her comfort. it was one place in town that, as alessia had said, wasn't modernized. it reminded her of being a teenage, getting her record player from her brother for her sixteenth birthday. it brought a sense of comfort, of home. it was a relief in a life that was ever-changing. she hummed, “well, i am actually interesting, my vinyl selection provides the proof of that not the fact that i like vinyl," she insisted, glancing over at what alessia had in her hands, “but as far as an overlooked masterpiece goes… do you have a high bar for 'masterpiece?'” she did. part of her writer's block problem. “you might be setting yourself up for disappointment if you're looking for a masterpiece."
her smile arrived a heartbeat before her laugh did; small, polished, but undeniably genuine. she angled the record back toward herself as though reconsidering it under shreya's cross-examination, one manicured nail tapping thoughtfully against the cardboard sleeve. "confident. i like that," she observed. “most people defend their taste as if they're apologizing for it.” blue eyes flicked over the stack tucked beneath shreya's arm, assessing without making it feel like scrutiny. years in public relations had taught her that people revealed far more through what they chose than what they said. "so your vinyl selection is your character reference." a knowing tilt of her head. “that tells me you're either exceptionally self aware... or you've built a very convincing argument for yourself.” there was no edge to it, only quiet amusement. "as for my standards..." alessia exhaled softly through a smile. "occupational hazard. i spend most of my life around people insisting everything is iconic, groundbreaking, once in a generation." she gave an almost imperceptible roll of her eyes. "eventually you start treating words like currency. if everything is a masterpiece..." she lifted one shoulder elegantly, “...nothing is.” she turned the sleeve over again, reading the track list with more attention than before. "i don't actually mind disappointment," she admitted, surprising even herself with the honesty. “just wasted potential. those are very different things.” closing the record, she tucked it lightly against her side before looking back to shreya. "so..." her expression sharpened with playful curiosity. “if you're going to defend vinyl's honor so passionately, i'm going to assume you've earned the right to make recommendations.” a perfectly arched brow lifted. “convince me.”
Wren smiled at Alessia. "Well, you see that may be why I may or may not be on the lam from Munchkinland." She quipped. "Do you get a lot of those in Penny Park?" The petite brunette gestured towards her van. "I actually do just need some help carrying some chairs over to my table over there."
she let out a quiet laugh as she adjusted the chairs beneath her arms, glancing toward the van before following wren's gesture back to the little setup beneath the tree. “i'll admit, munchkinland wasn't the jurisdiction i was expecting.” her smile lingered as they started across the grass. "as for serial killers?" she mused. “not nearly enough to make me stop walking through parks. though if one ever did show up, i'd hope they'd have the courtesy to open with something a little more original.” reaching the table, she set the chairs down on either side with an easy motion before taking a step back to admire the display. the gold cloth caught the afternoon light, giving the modest setup a warmth that felt surprisingly inviting. "i have to say, this is charming." her eyes settled on the deck of cards. “much more interesting than the meetings i escaped to get here.” she folded her arms loosely, her expression carrying the easy curiosity of someone who enjoyed observing people as much as talking to them. "so..." she nodded toward the cards. “are you someone who genuinely believes they can tell you something you don't already know, or is it more about giving people a reason to slow down long enough to listen to themselves?”
once upon a time, cleo had spent so much time in music stores, she could be considered part of the furniture. at the very least, an employee, and knowledgeable enough, too. but since she'd been forced out of blonde sundays, it'd felt like a mammoth task to walk through even electric rhythm's doors, a store who'd never known that version of her to compare to the one she is now. it's been getting easier, having a relationship with music again, but she still keeps her head down for the most part, unaware of the world around her. if she can't see anyone's eyes, then she can't think about them being on her, right? she's at the stage in her healing where it's possible to push everything to the back of her mind and that feels like an enormous step from even just a few months ago, the wound reopened by seeing lux at the turn of the new year. but, someone seems determined not to let her browse peacefully, a voice cutting through her thoughts. "I don't think anything's being romanticised," she offers quietly, "it's cider point's history." maybe she's got her rosetinted glasses on as a newer arrival in town, only here for a year so far, but it seems unfair to belittle its rich history down to detached nostalgia. "that's a good album, though. can't really go wrong with annie lennox, but medusa is timeless. at least in my opinion."
her smile lingered, though it softened around the edges as she turned fully toward the other woman. there wasn't a trace of offense in her expression, only the quiet realization that perhaps she'd sounded more dismissive than she'd intended. it happened sometimes. years spent around polished conversations had a way of sanding sincerity into something that resembled wit. she glanced back down at the sleeve, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over its worn corner before letting out a quiet, almost self-deprecating laugh. “mm, fair.” the admission came easily enough. "maybe that says more about me than it does the vinyl." her eyes lifted again, meeting cleo's for only a moment before drifting toward the rows of records surrounding them. “i've spent so much of my life in places obsessed with whatever's next that i forget some things survive because they deserve to.” a faint smile returned, warmer this time. "cider point's always had that habit." she mused. “everyone thinks it's frozen in time until they realize it's actually just... stubborn about keeping the right things.” she looked back at the album between her hands. "i can't pretend to be an annie lennox expert." her nose wrinkled ever so slightly in amused confession. "my father would consider that a personal failure, considering the size of his record collection." a quiet chuckle escaped her. “he insists the best way to know someone is to see what they reach for on a shelf. says playlists are too convenient, they don't require commitment.” she tilted the sleeve toward cleo. "so if medusa is where i should start..." there was genuine curiosity in her voice now, absent the earlier teasing. “what's the track that convinces someone they're late to discovering it?” her head tipped slightly, studying the other woman with polite interest rather than scrutiny. "you answered awfully quickly." another easy smile. "i'm guessing this isn't just an album you like, sounds like one you know."
there was something oddly comforting about places that still encouraged people to slow down. electric rhythm hadn't changed much since alessia was a teenager spending summers in cider point, ducking inside to escape the afternoon heat while her mother wandered neighboring shops. the walls were still lined with records she'd once pretended to know everything about, the turntable behind the counter still filling the room with music that somehow made silence feel less empty. she traced absentminded fingers along a row of worn vinyl sleeves before pulling one free, tilting it toward the light. whether she actually intended to buy it was another question entirely, she had always been better at collecting moments than possessions. a familiar melody drifted through the speakers, earning the faintest smile as she glanced toward the employee. "you know," she mused, turning the record over in her hands, "every town has one place that somehow survives every trend, every renovation, every attempt to modernize it." her gaze wandered around the shop before settling on whoever happened to be nearby. “i think this is ours.” she paused for a beat, studying the album in her hands. "now tell me..." she held it up with an amused tilt of her head. "am i about to discover a masterpiece i've somehow overlooked, or are we all just romantically attached to vinyl because it makes us feel more interesting than we actually are?"
Wren lugged the card table out of her VW van; it was rather embarrassing to struggle with it, but she was only five-foot-one, so she decided not to dwell on it too much. She managed to drag her table over to a nearby tree and set up her usual site for her afternoon tarot readings, complete with a shiny gold cloth to make her table look less like she was getting ready for Christmas, and the deck of cards her parents' parents had gotten her for Christmas of her fourteenth year. Except it wasn't complete, she had forgotten the folding chairs she kept in the van for these occasions. "Mierda." she huffed, before she felt somebody standing behind her. She quickly turned. "Hey, do you think you can help me grab something from my van?" She smiled. "I promise I am not a serial killer, I just lack upper body strength."
penny park had always been one of the few places for alessia that made time feel slower, and a walk had seemed like the easiest way to escape a phone that refused to stop buzzing with emails from clients who somehow believed every crisis deserved immediate attention. the voice behind her pulled her from the draft she had already been mentally rewriting. her gaze flicked from the small card table to the van, then back to the woman with an expression that hovered somewhere between amused and sympathetic. the corner of her mouth lifted into a faint smile. “well, that's exactly what a serial killer would say.” there was just enough of a pause to let the joke land before she laughed softly, already turning toward the van. "fortunately for you, i have a terrible habit of believing people." she reached for the folding chairs with practiced ease, carrying one beneath each arm before nudging the door shut with her hip. “though i should probably stop making a habit of accepting suspicious invitations from strangers in parks.”
“everyone wants the truth until they realize it doesn’t photograph well.”
1. basic information
☆ nickname(s): lessi (family only), alia (close friends)
☆ date of birth: september 18th, 1995 (30 years old, virgo)
☆ languages: italian (native), english (fluent), french (conversational)
☆ orientation: bisexual
☆ status: single — publicly complicated, privately unresolved
☆ birthplace: milan, italy
☆ hometown connection: cider point has been a second home to alessia for as long as she can remember. born in milan to an italian father and a mother originally from cider point, her life has always existed between two worlds. she spent her childhood moving between italy and the small coastal town; school years in milan, summers and holidays surrounded by familiar streets, family traditions, and the people who knew her before her name carried any weight. although she built her career elsewhere, alessia has returned to cider point throughout her life, making her connection to the town span nearly thirty years on and off.
☆ education: studied communications, luxury branding, and media strategy before entering the world of celebrity relations and image consulting
☆ occupation: socialite & luxury pr consultant (primarily out of town)
☆ notable work: celebrity image management, luxury brand campaigns, event coordination, reputation rebuilding, and private consulting for high-profile clients
2. appearance
☆ faceclaim: valentina zenere
☆ hair: alternates between black and blonde (currently blonde). usually styled in soft waves or a sleek blowout, rarely seen without looking perfectly composed
☆ eyes: blue, expressive and inviting at first glance, though there's always a sense that she reveals only what she intends to
☆ height: 5'5"
☆ style: silk blouses, tailored trousers, satin dresses, structured handbags, delicate gold jewelry, designer sunglasses, and carefully chosen pieces that appear effortless but never accidental. alessia dresses like someone who understands that presentation is power.
☆ notable details: always wears a signature perfume, keeps her nails perfectly manicured, collects vintage jewelry, and has a habit of fixing her appearance whenever she feels emotionally exposed
3. personality
☆ character archetypes: the social architect. the perfectionist. the woman behind the curtain.
☆ inspirations: blair waldorf (gossip girl), olivia pope (scandal), maddy perez (euphoria), emily thorne (revenge)
☆ deadly sin: pride
☆ heavenly virtue: ambition
☆ mbti: ENTJ — the commander
☆ temperament: choleric-melancholic
☆ hobbies: collecting vintage magazines, curating playlists, attending gallery openings, photography, discovering hidden restaurants, collecting perfumes, and people watching from hotel lobbies
☆ alessia bianchi has always understood the importance of a good story. long before she built a career around shaping public perception, she learned that appearances could open doors, protect reputations, and determine how people remembered you. growing up between privilege and expectation, she became fascinated by influence. not just who held it, but how they maintained it.
☆ intelligent, charming, and relentlessly driven, alessia is the person people call when everything begins falling apart. she knows how to turn scandals into opportunities, how to make mistakes disappear beneath carefully written statements, and how to make someone feel like the most important person in the room. her greatest talent is making everything look effortless. the irony is that alessia has spent most of her life perfecting the art of being known without ever allowing herself to be truly seen. she can read anyone else's emotions before they speak, yet struggles to admit her own. vulnerability feels too much like losing control, and control has always been the thing she trusts most.
☆ beneath the polished exterior is someone who fears that without the success, the connections, and the carefully curated image, there may be nothing left for people to admire. she doesn't crave attention because she loves being watched, she craves it because being forgotten feels worse.
4. family + relationships
☆ alessia was born into a well-connected italian family where reputation carried weight. her childhood was filled with expectations, formal events, and reminders that every action reflected back on the family name. affection was present, but achievement often became the language through which love was expressed.
☆ despite being born in milan, cider point was always part of alessia's upbringing. her mother grew up in the town before eventually leaving for italy, where she met alessia's father and built a life between both cultures. rather than leaving that chapter behind, her family maintained their connection to cider point, returning often throughout alessia's childhood. she grew up knowing both the polished world of milan and the familiarity of a place where people remembered her simply as alessia. not as a name attached to success, connections, or reputation.
☆ growing up between milan's fashion, luxury, and media circles and cider point's close-knit community shaped the way alessia viewed the world. milan taught her ambition, influence, and the power of presentation. cider point reminded her of history, familiarity, and the rare comfort of being known without having to prove anything.
☆ growing up surrounded by fashion, luxury, and media, alessia became fascinated by the power of presentation. she noticed how a dress, a photograph, or a carefully chosen sentence could completely change how someone was perceived. eventually, she realized she wasn't interested in being the person in front of the camera, she wanted to be the person deciding what the camera captured.
☆ her relationship with kyro lee became one of the few things she couldn't fully control. once considered a celebrity "it" couple, their relationship looked perfect from the outside: beautiful, successful, and destined for a future together. everyone expected an engagement announcement. but behind closed doors, kyro felt increasingly disconnected. every attempt to know alessia beyond the image she created seemed to become another opportunity for her to manage the narrative. he wanted something honest; she kept trying to make something flawless. their breakup shocked the public, but the cracks had existed long before anyone noticed. years later, rumors of reconciliation continue whenever they are seen in the same room. the world wants the romance back, but alessia knows some stories are better left unfinished.
5. public image
☆ alessia bianchi is the woman behind the people everyone knows. while she rarely seeks the spotlight herself, she has built a reputation for understanding it better than anyone.
☆ she is known among luxury circles as someone with impeccable taste, unmatched connections, and the ability to make even the most damaging situations disappear. celebrities trust her because she understands that reputation is fragile, and once lost, difficult to rebuild.
☆ although much of her professional life exists outside of cider point, locals have always known alessia as someone who belongs to the town in her own way. she is the girl who left and returned, the woman who built a life elsewhere but never completely severed the ties that brought her back. to some, she represents ambition and reinvention; to others, she is proof that no matter how far someone goes, certain places always remember who they were.
☆ to some, alessia is intimidating. to others, she is inspiring. she is admired for her ambition and criticized for the same qualities that made her successful. many assume she is cold, but those closest to her know she simply learned that softness is something people often take advantage of.
6. narrative motifs
☆ drink: dirty martini — polished, timeless, and deceptively simple. the kind of drink that looks effortless but requires precision to get right.
☆ aesthetic: quiet luxury, old money galas, silk scarves, handwritten thank you notes, perfume lingering long after she leaves, hotel balconies overlooking city lights, champagne glasses, red lipstick, fashion magazines, and jewelry boxes filled with stories
☆ themes: perception versus reality; ambition versus intimacy; the loneliness of being admired; control as a defense mechanism; learning that vulnerability is not weakness
7. possible dynamics
☆ someone who refuses to be impressed by her reputation and wants to know the person underneath
☆ a former client who became a genuine friend
☆ another ambitious person who understands the pressure of constantly performing success
☆ someone who knew her before the image was created
☆ a rival within the luxury industry who challenges her methods
☆ someone who believes she deserves a life beyond what she can provide for others
8. legacy + reputation
☆ alessia bianchi built her career by making people unforgettable. she knows exactly how to create an image, protect a name, and turn a moment into a memory. yet the woman who controls everyone else's stories has never been sure what to do with her own. to the world, she is elegance, ambition, and perfection wrapped into one carefully curated package. to those who know her, she is someone still learning that being loved is different from being admired. because alessia has spent years making sure nobody sees the cracks in the glass. now the question is whether she wants to keep polishing the reflection, or finally allow someone to see what's behind it.
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