Euronymous, in Lords of Chaos, moves through the world like a man caught between myth and boyhood. Pale, slender, and sharp-edged, he hides behind long black hair and the ritual of corpse paint, his armor against the ordinary. His clothes — the leather, the spikes, the constant black — are less rebellion than disguise, something to make him feel larger than he is. There’s a tension in him, a sense that he’s always performing for an invisible audience, trying to summon something real out of the chaos he’s created. His eyes betray it, though — they’re expressive in a way he can’t control, quick to flare with amusement, insecurity, or a flash of longing when no one’s watching.