Countless Gothic artists have immortalized her captivating gaze in clubs, bookstores and galleries across the world, and midnight deejays shake the dancefloors with the ethereal thunder of her music. A friend to Vampires, wizards and “mere” human toys, Anya ranks with Nico, Diamonda Galas, Gitane Demone, and other sirens of the final night. In her songs, the dancing dead hear whispered mysteries drifting just out of reach. It’s as if the music said something, as if breathed a tantalizing secret just on the edges of perception. And, of course, it does. Anya loves the darkness; she weaves it into her music like gold thread in a fine tapestry. Her taste for exotic forbidden thrills takes her from Cairo’s backroom temples of Qadesh to Carfax Abby, Forbidden Pleasures and, years ago, to the Succubus Club. The things she learns in her midnight travels find their way into tahlas wrapped in song. Few humans understand them, but even so, they sense that something’s going on behind the lyrics. Those with a taste for the arcane treasure her like fine wine. The Shadow-Folk understand better, and many of them welcome this dark chanteuse into their parlors for games of show-and-tell.
A haunting blend of Indian, African and European aristocracy, Anya dresses in black outfits which seem all the more revealing for the lack of skin they display. Her extensive jewelry and body art includes numerous piercings, occult tattoos, and a nose ring joined to an ear lobe by a thin chain. She seems to whisper ancient wisdoms even when she says nothing at all, and carries herself like a banshee queen. Her cool manners display fine breeding, but if the many tales about her are true, she has no aversion to dirtying her hands when a good time comes around. Anya Z is far from a household name, but that’s how she likes it. From the shadows, she observes the spidery world she prefers. And it, in turn, observes her and echoes her name.