It was a true sea of people that Martin and I saw, when we took a sneak peek at the crowd.

- What was it? - Martin asked, his eyes wide open – It’s just the same, playing for 10, 100 or 1000 people, right?

- In theory – I added, tensely.

He chuckled, nervously – You never mentioned it was only in theory. What happens when it’s 10 thousand, in practice? A hundred thousand?

- Are you alright? - I asked. I was not alright, myself. I had nailed down the just be yourself mantra, but was now feeling the heat of that giant frying pan.

- No – was the simple answer that came along a very nervous and shaky laugh – But I will go out there and play. I’ll crumble when it’s over.

- Fake it ‘till you make it.

- Precisely.

Alfie looked as cool as ever, unencumbered by any of it – You just look at that crowd right there, and imagine they’re all naked. Every bit is just dangling free. It’s all sausage and beans.

- I think that’s even more disturbing, darling. But you do you – I said.

- Does that help, in any way? - Martin asked him, genuinely curious. We had all heard about it, but we all thought it was a myth and no one actually took the time to imagine a naked audience. But, if anyone would, that would be Alfie.

- Yep, nekkid bums all the way.

Simon and Freddie came by as well. They did not seem a bit disturbed by any of it.

- Stiff upper lip, straight back, Rule Britannia – Simon glanced at me – You should know all about it, right?

- I guess I must have forgotten my colonial hat today. Bugger, – I always tried not to let his quips get under my skin, but that day had already started out wrong. - You do realise… that if this goes well, there’s no stopping us, right?

Freddie scoffed – I didn’t realise we were stopping now.

He was still actively fighting all our dates and touring schedule, even if there was nothing else that we could do by then. It was almost like a code of honour, that we did not cancel shows unless it was absolutely a matter of life or death. Besides, in my mind, it was good for him to be on the move, and not left to his own devices, where we could not keep an eye out for him. According to our band gossip, Alfie, Freddie had already scared Martin to death the other day, when he was so out there that nothing Martin could do would wake him up.

- You know what I mean – I said, harshly.

- Yeah, unfortunately, I do. But, seeing as I don’t want to get punched today – he gave Simon a very aggressive look – I will keep my mouth shut.

- Boys… - I looked from one to the other. - Now is not the time.

Some people had been there, waiting for us, since the early hours of the morning, so they could guarantee a good spot. I thought we should invest in screens, in the future, just in case we would ever draw out a crowd like that one ever again.

The boys started the show on their own, as they usually did and I made my way up on stage at around the two-minute mark. I saw faces lighting up with joy, the moment those first chords sounded. That was the reason I was doing it, after all.

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- Hallo, meine Schönen – I said, as we finished up the first song. We would be playing a modified setlist that we had outlined for the tour. This one was supposed to be a showcase of our very own favourite songs, instead of focusing mainly on the new album.

I think we did a very good job, in sewing together all three albums, so alike and yet so different amongst themselves. The audience also seemed to think so. I could feel their energy flooding the stage.

We played our mandatory cover song, to finish it up and I bowed and went off stage. They did not know it, but this would be where the true entertainment would begin.

I ran over to Pat, who helped me change into an all-leather set, behind an improvised screen, along with the famous fiery wig, to go along with my fiery surprise.

The stage lights were dim and it was already dark. The musicians started creating the mood and I was given the prop bow and arrow, which would mark the beginning of a new era.

A bright light focused on me, as I walked onto the centre of the stage. I reached the position marked on the floor and turned my back to the audience, drawing the arrow. From ground level, you could barely see there was a guide leading up, from where I was standing.

The lights changed colour, which was my cue and I fired the arrow. The light was no longer on me, but on the projectile, which went up about twenty metres in the air, igniting a bowl-like structure and setting off a rain of fireworks of red and gold on stage, that I knew would singe every bit of skin they could touch. Hence the leather clothes and, of course, the wig, as I had not enjoyed the smell of burnt hair, when we had tried it before. Besides, it looked very cool.

The much harder music started blaring and I took the mic, to sing about the Wild Hunt. According to what I read and heard, later on, it took a little while for some people to register that I was actually singing in German, after the initial shock.

Simon was doing some parts of the chorus with me and, for someone who had never even spoken a word of German, a month earlier, he was doing great.

Our circus was set. We now just had to juggle in all of its three rings until the very end.

The lights went out and I ran off stage once more. They took off my hunter’s wig and gave me a messy high ponytail, as one of the engineers that had worked on the pyrotechnic set up the next prop, a pulsating, bright red heart, that fit on an especially designed mount, on the left side of my chest.

It was the only thing the audience could see, in the dark. The beating of my heart.

While the previous song had been heavy and upbeat at the same time, this one was dramatic and impactful.

On the bridge of the song, a string orchestra roared over the heaviness of our own instruments and I ripped my heart off my chest, holding it high, as it also erupted in a rain of red light.

I ended up kneeling before my Little Monsters, offering them the sacrifice of my still pulsating heart.

This time, I could feel the wave that came from down there. I felt it, as it hit my chest. I wanted to cry, but there was one more song to go. As long as the raging fire above the stage still burned, we would keep going. One more, to end it all.

I loosened my hair, while all the extras went to their positions on stage.

I had written this one song months ago, precisely when I noticed how much people were putting me high on a pedestal and, in its underlines, it read as a critique to the way I was being idolised, to the point where I felt I could do whatever I felt like and no harm would come from there.

I had never worked with a choreography before, much less an elaborate one, where I would sing and perform at the same time.

A light as bright as a halo shone behind the stage and I came in, singing. The choreography read, at first, like I was a benevolent Goddess, granting favour to the mortals that fell on my path but, as I went up some stairs, I became ruthless and despondent, selecting only a few to follow me to my throne, where the light shone bright, creating another halo, but this time, on me.

As I sat, I brought out my final WMD, a beautiful arpeggio in a soprano register. The supplicants kept trying to climb on the stairs, while I sang, beatifically, unaware of the struggles for a place in the Sun, beneath me.

The choreography would end as I recreated the religious image of the Virgin Mary, pulling someone to her breast, while giving a cryptic smile and holding up the index, middle finger, as well as thumb, in a silent blessing, as the sun set behind that unholy painting.

My head ached, when I finally made it off stage, the bright fire dying and driving it all into darkness. I just hoped my love letter to the country that had welcomed me so and whose language I had always considered as my second one, had not backfired. In my mind, amidst all that post-show frenzy and clarity, it might have.