Hi 
I’m Blair. Eldest Rottington kid and allegedly “the rebel voice of Porto Morto,” which mostly just means my karaoke can ruin a dinner party in under ten seconds. But more on that later.
I wanted to write this because sometimes it feels like everyone’s already decided who I am…and they’re all wrong.
A few clips of me float around online and suddenly I’m a whole stereotype: the eyeliner, the shredded outfit, the “don’t talk to me” face. Someone online actually called me “just another emo rebel girl addicted to her phone.”
First of all — who said I was emo?
Second — what’s wrong with that anyway?
The thing about humans is that they love their neat little labels: Emo. Goth. Cured. Non-cured.
But here in Porto Morto, we toss those labels in boxes full of worms and compost them for dinner.
Here’s the truth: I look like a moody teenager because I am one, and I probably will be for a while.
That’s what happens when you become a zombie mid-puberty. Grandpa Noodlebrain keeps saying he’s “working on cellular recalibration,” which sounds fancy but basically means we’re all aging slower than a snail on sleep meds. So yeah, I’m stuck as a teen… for now.
And honestly? I don’t hate it.
Zombie adolescence has its perks. Everything feels raw and electric, like the whole world’s one long guitar riff that never fades out. I can reinvent myself a hundred times, my parents will never stop babying me and Bram (it’s cringe, but kinda sweet), and I’ve got a crew of friends on the island who actually get me. And if we’re being honest, immortality does wonders for a slow-burn crush on the local skater boy.
There’s no rush here. No deadlines. No growing out of who you are. Just endless time to be dramatic, make noise, and pour everything I am into the one thing that still makes me feel alive: music.
I still remember the first time I heard Rotzy shred her guitar. One note cracked through the air, and something in my throat snapped awake. Rotzy became my musical mentor after that; she taught me chords, handed me stacks of scratched punk vinyls, dusty CDs, and made me swear I’d always “play loud enough to break eardrums.”
I’d found my thing. I started a band with my friends, Grave Mistake (working title) and threw everything I had into songwriting. Songs about island life, about being a zombie teen, about Rip’s stupid perfect hair. But I quickly realized there was one major problem: my voice.
Some side effect of the zombie virus must’ve cranked my vocal cords to eleven because every time I sang, the sound waves blew out speakers and shattered windows…Not exactly ideal for rehearsals.
It was impossible to control… but in a funny twist of fate, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
Because eventually, our tiny slice of island paradise got infiltrated by those tin-canned, LED smiling freak bots sent by what I can only imagine is a boardroom full of patriarchal tech bros who decided they could monetize the afterlife.
Like, congratulations, Chad! You really looked at a tropical island full of happy, functional zombies and said, “You know what this needs? A hostile takeover and a pastel logo.”
At first, I’ll admit it, I was terrified. The sky was full of CureBots, and I thought, Cool, this is how I die twice. But when one came straight for me and my family, instinct took over. I didn’t think. I just *sang…*Or screamed (same thing). The pitch hit so high and hard the bot just detonated: metal raining down, sparks, total chaos. Best solo I’ve ever done.
Turns out my “problem voice” was exactly what Porto Morto needed.
So yeah, maybe I’m a teenage zombie with eyeliner and too many feelings.
Maybe my voice could level a city block if I sneeze too hard. But this is who I am: loud, messy, undead, and unapologetic.
I know I might look like a stereotype, but what I hope you see now is that there’s more to me than eyeliner and attitude. I love my family. I love this island.
And when it’s time to fight, I’ll do it my way, one scream at a time.
You can call me emo. You can call me loud. You can call me whatever helps you sleep at night.
Just don’t call me cured.
Lead vocals, undead menace, breaker of bots.
— Blair
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