[Billie Eilish, Khalid – Lovely]
"Action."
The set fell away. The world outside the holographic glass box ceased to exist.
The song opened with a simple solo violin playing pizzicato. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck. The notes were short, dry, and high-pitched. In the silence of the soundstage, they sounded like a clock ticking in a room where the power had gone out. It established a feeling of stasis, of time passing without progress.
Briane, sitting on the cold floor of the projection, looked halfway up. Above her, a camera drone hovered, but the hologram cloak rendered it invisible, leaving her staring into the empty, blue void.
With her movement, the piano entered. It played a slow, descending melody that followed the path of a falling leaf, drifting inevitably to the ground.
"Thought I found a way..." Briane sang, her voice breathless, fragile.
From the shadows of the corner, Dorian stepped into the light. He moved with a heavy, dragging gait, as if an invisible boulder were chained to his ankles.
"Thought I found a way out..."
Dorian's backing vocal joined hers on the repetition. The harmony wasn't sweet; it was heavy. The feeling was bitter disappointment. It was the memory of a brief moment of hope that had turned out to be a lie.
"But you never go away..." Briane sang, struggling to rise to her knees.
"Never go away" Dorian echoed, his voice low and distorted by the mask, turning slowly toward her.
The feeling was haunting persistence. It was the realization that this shadow, this depression, this fear was not a visitor. It was a permanent resident.
"So I guess I gotta stay now."
Briane began to crawl, then slowly pushed herself up to stand. The word "guess" was incredibly heavy. It was the sound of a prisoner stopping their struggle against the bars. It was the transition from active fighting to passive endurance.
They began to walk. Not towards each other, but in a slow, tightening circle, facing one another. The camera drone panned up, looking down on them from a bird's-eye view as they revolved like planets trapped in a dying orbit.
"Oh, I hope someday I'll make it out of here..."
For the first time, there was a flicker of distant hope in their voices, a unison plea to the universe.
They moved closer. The circle shrank. They reached out, their hands trembling, fingers extending toward each other's cheeks.
"Even if it takes all night or a hundred years..."
The feeling was infinite patience born of despair. They were willing to wait an eternity for a single moment of relief.
The camera began to circle them rapidly. Just as their fingertips were about to touch, just as connection seemed inevitable, they deflected. They rejected the touch, pulling their hands back as if burned, spinning away from each other.
"Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near..."
The feeling was total exposure. The camera zoomed out violently, revealing the entirety of the glass box sitting in the endless void. There was nowhere to hide. They were on display.
They walked backwards, blindly, until their spines collided. They didn't turn around. They stood back-to-back, a pillar of shared isolation. Slowly, they leaned their heads back, resting them on each other's shoulders, their faces looking up at the empty void above.
"Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear..."
The camera flew higher, looking down at their interlocked forms. The feeling was paralysis. The desire to "feel alive" was there, palpable and desperate, but it was buried under a mountain of fear that was too heavy to move.
The chorus arrived.
Outside the holographic glass cage, the weather shifted instantly. Dark, heavy clouds materialized in the void, and rain began to pour. It struck the invisible walls, creating ripples on the surface, distorting the view from outside. The texture of the scene changed from sterile clarity to a blurred, watery isolation.
The violins stopped their nervous plucking and switched to the bow (arco). The sound was long, weeping lines that stretched the tension until it snapped.
Inside, Briane's voice was soft, breathy, proximal, and almost devoid of vibrato. It was the sound of absolute exhaustion.
"Isn't it lovely, all alone?"
The feeling was pure, crystalline irony. The word "lovely" was used not as a descriptor of beauty, but as a shield against the crushing loneliness. The camera began to orbit the glass cage, but the images of Dorian and Briane inside were blurred, smeared by the ripples and the water running down the panes. They were ghosts in a jar.
"Heart made of glass, my mind of stone..."
A perfect metaphor for the frozen state of trauma; fragile emotions encased in a paralyzed, unmoving will.
Then, Dorian's voice joined hers. It was warmer, more soulful, but he suppressed his natural power to match Briane's fragility, creating a harmony that felt like a whisper in the dark.
"Tear me to pieces, skin to bone..."
The feeling was masochistic surrender. It was the point of such deep pain that you stopped protecting yourself and started inviting the destruction, just to feel something different.
"Hello, welcome home."
The feeling was grim familiarity. You were greeting the darkness that had been waiting for you all along.
The camera zoomed in, pushing through the rippled glass surface, breaking the barrier.
Inside, the scene had shifted. Dorian was still in the leaned-back position, but there was no Briane to lean on. He stumbled slightly as the support vanished. A deep sub-bass pulse began to thud beneath the piano, a heartbeat of anxiety.
He looked forward, his body listless, and began to walk.
"Walkin' out of town... Lookin' for a better place..."
The feeling was aimless yearning. It was the instinct to run, even when you knew there was nowhere to go. It was the physical manifestation of the mental desire to be 'anywhere but here.'
Briane's voice returned, now weaving around his as a ghostly backing vocal.
"Something's on my mind... Always in my head space"
The feeling was claustrophobia. Even in the wide world "out of town", the mind remained a small, crowded room you couldn't escape. It was the tragedy of carrying your own prison with you, locked inside your skull.
Dorian stopped walking. The camera continued its path, moving ahead of him, then slowly turned 180 degrees to face him.
Now, Briane was once again behind him, standing like a shadow he couldn't shake.
They both sang, their voices blending into a single, desperate plea.
"But I know someday I'll make it out of here... Even if it takes all night or a hundred years."
But notice the "someday." It wasn't today. It wasn't tomorrow. It was a dream of a future that felt a million miles away. It was the acknowledgment that the "night" of this emotion might last a lifetime. It was a vow to survive, but it was a very cold, very lonely vow.
Briane moved, stepping out of the shadow to stand directly beside Dorian. She reached down and grabbed his hand. It wasn't a romantic gesture; it was the grip of a drowning person finding a piece of driftwood.
"Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near..."
They sang it together, their voices raw. You are standing in the middle of a storm with no coat, no roof, and no light. The camera pushed in tight on the handhold, the only point of warmth in the cold, blue universe of the set.
"Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear..."
The song didn't swell to a crescendo. It didn't break through the clouds. It ended not with a victory, but with the quiet acknowledgment that the fear has won for now.
Suddenly, the camera jerked up, abandoning them, looking straight up into the source of the rain. We saw the digital clouds swirling above the glass cage, the artificial storm brewing in the void.
With the view of the storm came Briane's voice, echoing from below.
"Isn't it lovely, all alone?... Heart made of glass, my mind of stone."
It was delivered with a deadpan sarcasm that had calcified into a survival mechanism. If you can't escape the pain, if the cage is locked, you might as well call it 'lovely.' You might as well decorate the walls.
Dorian's voice joined hers, low and defeated.
"Tear me to pieces, skin to bone."
There was a strange, dark peace in giving up. It was the relaxation of muscles that had been tensed for too long.
The camera began to slowly pan down, descending from the clouds, passing through the glass ceiling of the cage.
"Hello, welcome home."
The final blow.
They were no longer trying to leave the cage. They were greeting the sadness like an old, inevitable roommate who had just walked through the door. It was the sound of permanent residence in sorrow.
The camera fully panned down to the floor.
Dorian and Briane were no longer standing. They were lying on the cold glass floor, curled around each other, not in an embrace of lovers, but in the huddle of survivors. They stared blankly at nothing, their energy spent.
We were left exactly where we started: with that solitary, dry violin pluck.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The "storm" of the strings had passed, but nothing had changed. The "way out" was never found. The music settled back into its monotony, leaving the viewer alone in the dark with the ghost of the melody.
The set went silent. The playback ended.
But no one moved.
The film crew, usually ready to rush in with towels and lighting adjustments, stood frozen. Director Praji stared at his monitor, his mouth slightly open, forgetting to breathe. Even Kio and Ratik, stood in stunned silence, the weight of the performance pressing down on their chests.
There was no "Cut" to be heard. So Briane and Dorian stayed in position, lying on the floor of the holographic cage, two statues of beautiful despair.
A full ten seconds passed.
Finally, Praji snapped out of the trance. He blinked, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. He pressed the comms button, his voice hushed.
"Cut."
…
The video on the screen faded to black, leaving only the reflection of two stunned faces in the dark glass of the datapad.
In their room, Mala and Maree Brimen sat in absolute silence. The usual chaotic energy of the sisters was gone, replaced by a heavy, hollow feeling in their chests.
Maree, usually the vocal one, was the first to move. She sniffled, wiping a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "That... that wasn't happy," she whispered, her voice trembling. "They said it was 'Lovely.' That wasn't lovely. That was... that was sad."
Mala didn't answer immediately. She reached out and tapped the replay button, not to watch it again yet, but just to see the thumbnail: Dorian and Briane lying on the floor of the glass cage, defeated.
"It wasn't just sad, Maree," Mala said softly. "It was... real."
She scrolled down to the comment section.
: "I feel attacked. I feel seen. I feel everything. Why does Briane sound like that? It's like she's whispering directly into my ear."
: "Do you hear that violin? The pizzicato? It's like a clock counting down time you don't have. This isn't any song. This is art."
: "I've been a fan of Briane for years. I have NEVER heard her sing like this. No belting, no runs, no tune to perfection. Just raw air and pain. She finally found her voice. She's not just an idol anymore, guys. She's an artist."
Mala looked at her sister. "They're right. Briane usually sings those big, power anthems. Even 'No Time To Die' is powerful, but this... this feels like she stripped all her armor off."
"It's Percival," Maree said.
The comments seemed to agree.
: "Okay, we need to talk about Percival. First, he takes Juno Park; a complete unknown and turns her into the voice of a generation with 'Skyfall.' Now, he takes Briane Taleini; a manufactured pop princess and strips her down to something raw and haunting."
: "The man is a Star Maker. He doesn't just write hits. He finds the part of the singer they're hiding and drags it into the light."
: "There's someone he can't fix… Me:("
: Percival could make a song about my lunch and make it sound like a tragedy."
The video was spreading like wildfire across the Stellarcast network. Reaction videos were popping up instantly, casters crying on camera, music critics sitting in stunned silence, vocal coaches analyzing the "breath control of despair."
Mala lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. "He did it again," she murmured. "He didn't just make a song. He changed how people see Briane."
Maree grabbed a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. "I hate him," she sobbed, clutching her Percival plushie. "I love him so much, but I hate him for making me feel like I'm trapped in a glass box."
Mala smiled weakly. "Yeah. Me too."
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮:
- Stardwey Valley: Completed.
- Hades: 19%██▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Name – Elton John (ch.9)
- A Lovely Night – La La Land (ch.20)
- Merry Go Round of Life – Howl's Moving Castle (ch.25)
- Small Fragile Hearts – Victor Lundberg (ch. 27)
- Skyfall – Adele (ch. 29)
- No Time To Die – Billie Eilish (ch. 30)
- Yesterday – The Beatles (ch. 32)
- Lovely – Billie Eilish, Khalid (ch. 47)
*A/N*
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
*A/N*