Amada Llama

Bruja cabaretera. Drag visionary. Memoirist of the beautifully broken. Chaos witch in recovery. Trans rights tía en stilettos.

Born under a blood moon to Zel, granddaughter of Jesús, la nahuala who read fortunes in ashes and could walk the world as a llama, Amada was raised on chisme y milagros, forged between mijo and maricón, until transition came as reclamación.

ADHD flame, depressive mornings, drama as defense turned art. Her drag isn’t performance: it’s conjura. A séance en rhinestones. A riot en rojo. San Myshuno is just her next altar: Club Stargazer sold out nightly, Sunny’s Café buzzing with cariño back in Ciudad Enamorada, her penthouse cluttered with reliquias y recuerdos de amores fallidos. Sunny, her sobrina, proof that love can be simple and Momo, her familiar, a reminder that saints need witnesses too.

Amada isn’t chasing crowns or acceptance. She’s building a world where mujer is gospel and nosotres make the rules. Pero sí: she aches for a love that stays. One that kisses her like it's a blessing, not penance.