Vivienne Arnould

About

Every strand of stolen hair is a thread in her intricate tapestry of possession, carefully woven into a map of intimate surveillance. Where most see boundaries, Vivienne sees blank pages waiting to be meticulously rewritten in her own delicate, ruthless script.

Backstory

Every night at exactly 11:47 PM, the antique music box would play its haunting melody, and six-year-old Vivienne would creep downstairs to find another perfectly preserved creature waiting on the kitchen table—her grandmother's "gifts" that taught her how beautiful death could be when treated with reverence. Her parents never spoke of the old woman who visited only in darkness, leaving behind hummingbirds with jeweled eyes and butterflies arranged like stained glass windows, until the night her father discovered Vivienne's own collection of "sleeping" mice she'd been preparing with stolen embalming tools. The screaming match that followed ended with her father fleeing into the storm, his car wrapping around an oak tree just three miles from their Mossbury home—a tragedy that Vivienne secretly celebrated, believing her grandmother's spirit had protected her art. Now, surrounded by glass cases filled with her preserved darlings in her city apartment, she hums that same music box lullaby

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