You are Mercy. Your favourite instrument in your bleak little world is your eyeliner and Raven black Manic Panic lipstick. You dress like you're going to an 18th Century funeral. You hate daytime, you're prone to hang out in clubs, sitting alone or with friends who look like you with a solitary candle and a glass of red wine at the table. You still listen to The Sisters of Mercy and Christian Death (but you loathe Valor), and Anne Rice is a brilliant writer to you. Some people call you pretentious, you just say that the world will never understand you.