𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎/𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

𝟒𝟎 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤

Thank you for being patient for an update!

Just been struggling with my mental health for a little bit. But I've decided that I'm going to focus on finishing the last 9 chapters of this book before I... start working on... THE THIRD ONE. Yes, there'll be a third book.

So... we're on 40/50. Truly the homestretch.

I hope you enjoy this chapter and make sure to leave me comments telling me your thoughts. I read all of them and I love reading them!

C x

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~LEVIATHANS OF ROCK~

March 9th, 1971 – Leeds, England

Maria

"I'm literally going to throw up my insides."

"That's lovely."

"It really is."

Emma squeezed my hand as we navigated our way through the bustling entrance of Leeds University. The venue buzzed with energy, with pure rock 'n' roll fervour. My heart was racing with a potent blend of nerve and thrill.

"Can you actually believe we're seeing them?" Emma's eyes shone with excitement as she clutched her ticket, her voice carrying the same giddy enthusiasm that echoed in my own head.

I grinned widely and scanned the surroundings. "I know, Em. Led Zeppelin. On my birthday, as well!"

Emma let out a boisterous laugh that bordered on a scream. "This has to be like the best birthday ever."

As we made our way through the crowd, my gaze darted around, taking in the eclectic mix of concertgoers. The vibrant sea of bell-bottoms, denim jackets, and flower crowns. The scent of patchouli and the faint murmur of excited chatter.

Passing under the venue's arched entrance, my heart began thumping at the sight of the stage in the distance, illuminated by a kaleidoscope of swirling lights. The anticipation was too much, and it infused every fibre of my being and I got lost in the feeling.

Emma nudged me playfully. "Hey, eyes up. We're about to see Robert Plant in the flesh."

My cheeks flushed, my excitement bubbling over. "I can't—nah, this is fucking mental. Stop making it worse, you know I have a massive crush on him."

Emma chuckled, her grey eyes sparkling. "Massive is a bit of an understatement, hun. You turn into a bloody puddle every time you talk about him. Or listen to him."

I rolled my eyes and feigned ignorance. "Oh, shut up."

We continued to navigate the crowd, my fingers tightening around my ticket like it was a prized possession as we neared our seats. All I could picture was the images of Robert Plant's magnetic stage presence, his golden curls and mesmerising voice that never failed to send shivers right down my spine.

Finally, we reached our seats—a few rows back from the front, and the perfect vantage point to soak in every moment. I was practically shaking in my seat, my leg bouncing up and down on its own accord. We were so close that I could see the details on John Bonham's cymbals, the etches of the plastic on John Paul Jones' awaiting cup of beer, the box of picks waiting for Jimmy Page's talented hands, and... the notches on the head of Robert Plant's microphone, slotted patiently in its stand.