for the haunted, the healing, and the starborn.

We are not broken.
We are becoming.

We have bled in silence.
We have screamed in dreams.
We have buried versions of ourselves they will never know.

But we are still here.
Dancing on the edge of madness.
Casting spells from our scars.

Wearing grief like black lace.

​

This is music for the people who feel too much and still love louder.

For the ones who’ve been called dramatic, hysterical, cursed — and made poetry from it.

For the ones who turned trauma into symphonies.

​

We are velvet and venom.
Soft, but untouchable.
Sad, but powerful.
Witch and siren.
Dreamer and destroyer.

 

We don’t chase light —
we are made of it.
We do not beg to be understood —
we sing, and the ones meant to hear us will.

 

This is not just music.
This is survival in melody.
This is a prophecy in synth.
This is resurrection, in 4 minutes or less.

Welcome to the world of Myla Vie.
Here, pain is sacred.
And you are not alone.