Amber stood at the edge of a cliff—panelled glass polished to transparency—with nothing to catch her and nowhere to hide.
Her hands were clutching the metal bar—her only form of visible safety; the surface was icy against sweaty, warm palms—skin that left imprints upon the silver. His fans were screaming, his not hers, a constant drone of sound that vibrated to the painful beat of the music. It thrummed from deep within her, shaking up her organs—lungs, liver, and heart. It led to a nausea that churned in her throat.
The panic, it seized her like wildfire.
She could notice a lot more things, like the way the smoke blew at the corners of the stage, or the upset that began in the darkness that was under her. Or perhaps the sound of tech speaking from stage right in jargon, or the jostle of wheels and the slow upward movement of her platform.
But her vision tunnelled to the microphone in her palm.
They were hands that she should recognize from the nicks of white scars and the blister on the thumb. The ring of fiery red. She should remember these hands, had once fingered the scars, and traced the tips.
As his soulmate, she should know who he was.
But she couldn't think, couldn't feel. She could only stare at the ground beneath her feet, watching it shake and tremble. Around her the screams began to dull into white noise—pitched like the shrill violent ringing of a bell. She licked her lips that had gone sticky and dry—but whose lips? Whose body had she stolen?
Whose life did she now hold in her grasp?
She hoped, no, prayed that no one had dropped Rumiko in the exchange. That no one had tried to pick up her crying baby, that no one had held their daughter within arms that would surely tighten and let go as souls were exchanged. Within her mind, so distraught and ruined, there laid a semblance of herself, a feeling of responsibility.
An edge of fear.
As her panicked breaths escaped her in soft whimpers, she felt for his face, traced the nose, the brows and the lips. That was good enough to send flashes of memories dripping through the turmoil. Memories of calmer, more peaceful days with her own hands on his face, her own hands feeling the shape of his mouth and the lids of his eyes. The length of his eyelashes—its flutter sent a spark of recollection through her veins.
Sieon.
Sieon was with Rumiko.
Beneath her the platform moved, and she stumbled into position fingers clasped upon the bar, held so tight her knuckles grew white. Her eyes were violently struck by the blinding gush of light, panned down as if it giving her time to take her place upon the pedestal. Her feet stumbled, moving back, but the platform was rising, and it continued bringing her up into the light.
She was stuck upon the precipice of disaster with nowhere to run.
It stopped high up in the sky— it was a stand, and she was a witch to be burned. She was at the top of the moving stage, staring into the darkness that was a mixture of bouncing lights and spinning effects.
The music swept, entering a crescendo and a spotlight affixed itself upon her, highlighting her every move. She knew without a doubt that all cameras were now focused on her person. And her face, her every move, was broadcasted on the screens behind her. The technician counted away, calling his name.
The screams grew higher, then stuttered as the beat dropped, quelled when her mouth opened and closed.
Lost.
In her ears she heard staff calling his name, repeating the cues. Someone asked if he wanted to do it again. The instrumental continued edged with the soft adlib of her soulmate. It continued just as she was left behind—a lonely boat in the storm. She'd missed his cue, destroyed his solo and she wondered if they would cut the lights if she just waited long enough. She wondered if they would end her misery.
But they didn't and seconds crawled by with her bottom lip quivering and her mouth open but soundless.
She'd left him behind in that jail cell, left him in those four white walls, stuck with their child as she failed in his place. She felt sick, she felt awful, felt the need to scratch and claw at the pricks of heat in her skin. And her lips parted once again, her mind searching for the lyrics. At the very least, she had to try for him. She had to give him that chance.
But where was she? The beginning of the chorus? The end of the first verse? Or had it all already passed and she was knees deep within the bridge? She felt the burn of awareness over her skin, the eyes of the audience that took and didn't give. And for that she felt cold, so cold. Her knees buckled, and she sank feebly onto the ground. Her legs were trembling with the weakness of fear.
Beyond her consciousness, the fans roared demanding for retribution.
How cruel could her soul be? How could it lay her upon the chopping board right before the very people she feared the most? How could it ruin everything just when she'd finally convinced herself that she was strong? Her nose burned and her breathing grew wet.
Sieon, she had to try for Sieon.
Her mind searched for the lyrics, the melody, the song and yet her heart had given up on success. There was no point in singing for Sieon because her presence, her broken soul, was not him. This was their last tour, and she was here just to ruin it all. On her tongue she tasted the salt of her tears, gooey with shame.
~Fated destiny, I've stolen your chances in exchange for the abyss~
She jumped as a new voice entered, rippling through the bass and her eyes danced to the corner of the stage. It crept to the handsome figure that stood right below her, spellbinding with his lips on the microphone, and his eyes on her frame. He had dark hair, tousled waves sprinkled with glitter, on a flawless feline-like face.
Casper.
~I'm in your fire, bloodied by your surrender—all your greatest desire~
His voice wasn't suited for the song. It was a million octaves too high for his vocals and yet he tried for her in a soft head voice that struggled and strained. He tried as hard as he could with his eyes swimming with colours, and yet she couldn't bear to take a longer glance. She buried her head in her arms, an ostrich under sand.
~I've taken all that you love, I've taken all that you know~
Another entered, Hikaru voice melting with Casper's, a sweet gentle lull that had her shivering despite her anxiety. But she couldn't look at him, not when she was blinded with shame and so much humiliation.
This was all her fault.
Her and her weak, weak soul.
~I've stolen things you deserve; your worth is weighed against my accomplishments ~
Ezra's voice slipped in as if they'd practiced it, as if Sieon's mistake and his downfall were all on purpose. It was as if this were all just an act to get seven into a song. But it only made her feel worse—her body shrivelling her breath escaping her lips in pants.
She hated attention and having spent months alone with nothing but her head, this was more than she could take.
This was everything in pounding, blood hounding awareness. This was all her mistakes on a silver platter laid out to the people she loved. This was worse than an 'I told you so' and a 'you were wrong to have pushed us away'.
This was torture. This was revenge. And she wanted to fall from the cliff into the darkness and just die within the shadows of the stage.
~My pound of flesh to your heart of gold~
Oliver was singing too, and she could see them all from the corners of her eyes, standing in an oval that encompassed her silhouette. She wondered if they were looking at her, wondered what spiralled in their heads. She wondered whether Hikaru blamed her for being so stupid, for telling him to go.
Because she was wrong.
So wrong.
~I know I come across, undeserving, unworthy. But it is you I will never sacrifice~
The platform jostled just as JieMi's voice trailed in. She was sinking, the podium was finally falling. The light caressed her face, flashing as she fell with her hands clutched tight against the bar. And finally, she stopped and there was the brief beat of gentle silence. She flinched when a hand touched her shoulders, something inside her sparked in answer.
MinJae stood before her, beautiful like salvation, angry like redemption. His clothes were a mess of his next outfit and his previous one—a head scarf of army green, a satin jacket draped around his shoulders, and suit pants with two earrings that did not go together. He was glowing, skin glistening as plump lips twisted into a smile. Or perhaps it was all just a trick of the light.
All of it, even his kindness.
~So take my name, say I'm yours, swear you're mine as you look into my eyes. ~
Her lips trembled as they pressed against the microphone, and she closed her eyes in defeat. Get it together Ambs. And so, with a trembling voice drenched in shuddering emotions, she whispered the last words of the song that she'd been unable to sing.
"Yes."
How pathetic.