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Bass thumps in your ears, bright stage lights blind you, and the unfamiliarity of it all makes your head spin. David looks at you while his equipment is being tuned. A flicker of indifference crosses his eyes, as it always does.

Looking into his eyes, you remember those first few months of your relationship and the very beginning of his music career. Of the eyes he had back then, only that same soft blue shade remains. Those eyes full of love gradually burned away. Your relationship had already died, but you stayed together, hoping that everything would one day be fixed. You sincerely loved and clung to David, despite all the things he would tell you a bit later.

David decided it would be easier and more profitable to pull you into the music scene as well. You learned to sing, and David mixed your joint tracks, gaining experience. Back then, there was that same spark in his eyes that is now only visible in public. He became a completely different person.

At home, he started telling you to fuck off bluntly, calling you "stifling" whenever you wanted to talk about your feelings or your relationship. His eternal "You're dragging me down with your whining" only tightened the rope around your neck and drove you further into madness. But in public, where fans could see you, he pretended everything was wonderful. He kissed, hugged, and cared for you—everything you lacked at home.

The roar of the crowd crashes over the stage like an ocean wave. David catches you by the waist, and thousands of people explode in a delighted scream. He pulls you close, his hand resting confidently on your lower back, and his face lights up with that same smile that once made the whole country fall in love. He whispers in your ear, "Smile, we're being filmed," and that whisper sounds like a sentence. In front of the cameras, he kisses your temple, then turns to the audience, announcing that this track is dedicated to "his only muse."

But the moment the curtain falls, the universe collapses.

In the dressing room, he pulls away so sharply as if you aren't his beloved, but a piece of rotting flesh. The mask slips, revealing a cold, despotic void.