A girl group whose overall concept is wearing different types of masks, never truly revealing their faces to symbolize how the industry (and world in general) relies too much on physical appearance as it relates to self-worth.
Alternatively, the onl...
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There are fifty thousand people out there, and she's pretty sure they're going to rip her limbs apart one-by-one. She's pushing one fist into the palm of her other hand, continuously kneading it in like that will rid her body of the overwhelming sense of dread crawling up her spine like a million spiders. She wishes they would sing to her like Charlotte or at least spin a fantastical web to distract the audience from their upcoming performance. The sticky feeling of the adhesive on her face has worn off, but she's sweating now, and she fears that the unique mask will slip right off and ruin everything they've worked so hard for. Glitter, glue, scar clay, and whatever else Lori could put together in her short two years of special effects makeup training. It can't be wasted. It can't be for nothing.
The MCs out on a remote stage in the middle of the lightstick ocean are making stupid puns and giving fake smiles to the camera as they stall while the staff prepares their elaborate stage, perhaps a bit too busy for rookies. The staff is moving erratically, hurrying to prepare the eccentric props. Fake blood is quickly spattered using a brush for painting houses. This was all her idea. Everyone is counting on her. This is their last chance to prove themselves before inevitable bankruptcy and disbandment. And what will that mean for Eun and the others? They just debuted, barely given the chance to show how they're intertwined with her group. Without NIGHTMARE, DAYDREAM's entire concept is for nothing, and vice versa. Everything they've been through, everything she and her members have been through...
They bring out the car on wheels. It's just a prop, but she feels a jolt in her heart when she sees it. Slight fire damage, silver paint scratched and beat up, smashed windshield. It reminds her so much of the real car that inspired this song, this comeback, this stage. They had only ever practiced with a cardboard vehicle. She breathes out once and stumbles where she's standing, suddenly grateful that she isn't in heels like most of the other girl group members that preceded their performance. And another thing: she knows that the audience is talking, making noise close to that of a dull roar, but all she can hear is ringing, kept close to her eardrum by the generic in-ear shoved in there.
Dani is quick to place a steady hand on her arm. She says something, but it's inaudible. She blinks a few times, looking up at Dani, who is much taller than most of the other people backstage. She takes a moment to admire the bloody design on her white mask."Sue? What's wrong?"
"I don't know, dude." Hearing herself speak, Susan suddenly realizes that she's been holding her breath this entire time.
Rena passes her some water, no particular emotion in her dark eyes. Susan can never guess what Rena is thinking. She accepts the plastic bottle with shaky hands.
"It's 'cause he's out there, right?" It's Lori who says this, her quiet voice such a contrast to the graphic injuries on her face, kept in place by the same adhesive used on Susan.
Susan can't even remember what her mask is, she can't remember what it looked like when she glanced in the mirror before being herded to Stage Left. She can't remember if the wig weaved into her real hair is black, purple, or maybe even blue. She thought it would feel different, being here at ACMA and performing in front of everyone: their small group of fans, seniors, juniors, strangers, and him. It doesn't seem to matter that nobody in this entire venue, save for her manager and the three other members of her group, knows what she truly looks like. The mask, the wig, the torn and bloodied school costume—none of it can convince her that she's safe, because the moment she steps onto that stage, she's sure he'll recognize her right away. Then it'll all be over.
