At once the familiar, almost nostalgic scent of cigarettes and beer-stained flooring hit Aster, and the audience was within reach. The ocean of chatter beyond the curtain could be heard clearly, the crowd on the other side energized by excitement at seeing Cecil preparing the stage.

This commotion was an alluring sound to Aster, whose heart fluttered at the prospect of that chatter turning to a fevered pitch the moment they saw her.

It electrified her body, and she felt as though she were skating on air.

Catching sight of the young fan, beside herself in joy for the chance to observe the band from the stage, only intensified this overwhelming feeling.

Aster was worried she may get addicted to it.

However, she could not remain entirely within these joyous thoughts, as the sight of Marion brought her back to the situation at hand.

She frowned, then grew anxious upon remembering Cecil's expression when he had first entered the room.

His face, his eyes, his tone of voice— they seemed to all be asking, “is this it”? He appeared so utterly taken by worry, agitated in his recollection of fording the throng of distraught, hysterical teens outside the venue, that even Aster in her euphoric state couldn't help but feel some small notion of nervousness.

The effect of his words was more plainly evident on the faces of Sylvia and Floyd, who looked at each other with the same fretful expression of a child knowing their punishment lay just beyond their parent's door.

Yet Aster, rapturous in her manic surge of happiness, did not allow the notion of their curse once more coming true to take root within her mind.

It simply would not happen, she told herself, for she would not allow it.

She would not think on it for a second, and so, by depriving it of any reality inside her head, it would not be allowed to be.

Thus, she met all of Cecil's warnings about Marion's idiocy and the fury of Eugene and the owner with an air of unconcern, which greatly irritated him.

“Aster, if this goes wrong we're never going to play in Cherryaire again,” he had told her, aghast at what he saw as a sarcastic reaction.

Though Aster didn't worry, her heart was there for the Cherubs, who she knew would receive the blow for her actions.

As if intuiting thoughts of him, March turned to her.

Aster, noticing his gaze, returned it.

"Good luck," he said with a nod.

Aware that the time had come, Aster's heart doubled over in excitement.

She returned his nod, then members from both bands exchanged glances, realizing that not much was left to be done other than play.

She took a deep breath, and the curtain was wrenched open.

As that velvet gate separated, Aster was met with a sound unlike any she had ever heard.

It was a noise which, though she had fantasized about it more than she could remember, completely floored her.

Before her was a wavering mass of humanity crammed inside that tiny venue, ushering cries of excitement from the tops of their strained, hysterical voices.

Its intensity was such that it caused the air inside the venue to fluctuate, and take the stage in the form of a humid, breath-scented breeze.

Aster froze, though not out of fear.

She froze in the same reverence as one would when coming face to face with a God, or some incredible force of nature. For in that moment, the entire universe's justification for being was condensed within that impassioned crowd.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

She couldn't help but meet the hungry gazes of those below, and what she saw set her veins on fire.

Their eyes showed little trace of the individual. All she could see was idolatry, and celebrity-drunk madness churning within their stares.

As she moved, their pupils did so as well.

As she reacted, the crowd reacted.

She, seeing her congregate puppet dance, again felt the pull of her growing addiction.

Her euphoria was broken by Sylvia, who was trying to get her attention.

The nervous look Sylvia had bore back in the dressing room had dissipated, and she seemed taken by an excitement almost rivaling Aster's.

“Ya ready?!” she squealed, beaming.

Aster grinned, and nodded eagerly.

She turned to Cecil, then to Marion, and shared the same look of resolve.

They too, like Sylvia, had become taken by the reaction of the crowd.

Cecil, for all his worrying, could not maintain that sour expression in front of their adoration.

Aster grabbed hold of her bass and lifted it over her shoulders.

The strings seemed to tickle her callouses, the very instrument itself inviting ecstasy within its every touch.

She turned back around to face her bandmates, and despite knowing she would barely be heard above the screams, yelled to them.

“Let's show the Cherubs what they missed!” she cried.

Sylvia, Cecil, and Marion met her cry with a look of determination— a shared expression showing that each were aware that this was it.

With a nod to one another, Aster turned around to face the crowd, and struck the intro note to their signature song— the one they had written for Johnny Vallerie.

As lightning arcs across the empty vastness of the sky, so too did a convulsion of hysteria ripple through the crowd.

Their screams, to Aster's great disbelief, somehow got even louder, to the point where the band could barely hear what they were playing.

She looked out into the crowd, surveying the many faces lost in the moment. They thrashed about with wild abandon, some even despite the fact they were pushed up right against the stone walls of the venue in the most seemingly uncomfortable ways. Others sat on the shoulders of friends and partners, trying to get a better look of the band.

It was so far removed, in every single way, from their experience at the ballroom.

The song came to an end and the cacophonous screams filled the room as the amplifiers died away.

Aster looked over to the young fan sitting by the stage wall, who smiled sunbeams at her.

She then looked once again at Sylvia, Marion, and Cecil, who appeared happier than she had ever seen them.

They launched into their second track and the hysteria resumed.

March, watching from backstage, felt as if the entire world was shrinking upon him.

He drew himself away from the stage, as every astonished, excited reaction from the crowd caused him to wince as though he were dealt physical pain. He felt mortified about the prospect of walking on stage to follow this, the humiliation of which infuriated him.

The Love You Forevers' set, by necessity, was incredibly short— only four songs— and came to an end before anyone knew it.

Yet that ecstasy remained, and the crowd's wild screaming did not abate.

They only grew louder and more violent as the band exited the stage, and it wasn't long before their exclamations had turned into chants of the Love You Forevers' name.

Aster and the rest of the band reconvened backstage, basking in the glow of the crowd's romance and adrenaline. The Cherubs were awaiting their turn with noticeable hesitance, and welcomed the band back with tepid congratulations while the young fan sang their praises.

March was silent.

Aster noticed this and tried to pay it no mind, but couldn't help but give him an irritable scowl as he shook off Sylvia's wishes of good luck when their turn to take the stage had come.

Exhausted, Aster sat down on the floor of the dingy stage, her ears ringing and heart strung out on adrenaline, and listened to March as he took the microphone.

The crowd would not obey.

Over his words advertising their latest single, and some other attempts at witty banter, the crowd incessantly roared, chanting for the Love You Forevers in unison.

The sound of this caused a twinge of unbearable remorse in Aster's chest, and upon hearing them awkwardly push forward with their aforementioned single into the face of the audience's cries, she rose from the floor and exited backstage.

She hurried down the hallway and outside where the frigid night breeze shocked her hot skin.

Mareby-Roquefort, and Sísí, who had been called upon by Floyd to photograph the event, were all standing off to the side, sharing a cigarette. Floyd stood beside them.

Noticing her, they smiled.

Floyd himself looked like he would weep.

“Miss Aster!” he said, his voice trembling. “That— that performance in there! That's what makes stars! My, I positively thought we were done for— Eugene said he'd kill me! But you showed them all what you are!”

His face was then taken by an evil grin.

“He will never be able to leer at me with that smarmy look of his again,” he said, guffawing.

“I was just in the process of inviting Mr. Floyd to my office tomorrow morning— to discuss where to go from here. We have to strike while the iron is hot, so they say! Would you care to join, Miss Aster?” Mareby-Roquefort added.

By this time, Aster was being betrayed by her earlier euphoria, which was now fading away to expose the true significance of what she had wrought on the Cherubs.

Trembling, she attempted to respond.

“Yeah, I guess,” she gave in a broken, small voice.

“Do not worry, nothing bad has ever come out of destruction,” interjected Sísí, smiling.

It was at that moment that Aster could hear the chants for The Love You Forevers bleeding outside of the venue, to which Floyd and Mareby-Roquefort smiled viciously.

Sounds of clamor and March's angry voice followed, and Aster turned away, taking the cigarette from Sísí.