With a ferocity and speed akin to the rumble of thunder heard from an approaching storm, did word of the Love You Forevers' billing with the Cherubs soon reach the ear of anybody who knew anything about what was hip in the area.

So easily did this news travel, that by the night of the show, there was seemingly not a soul under twenty-five who had not heard of the event, and the turnout reflected this accordingly.

“We have a line down the street, Eugene!” Floyd barked, looking on edge. There was a maniacal glint in his eye, and he looked as if he could start foaming at the mouth at any moment. The venue they had booked, The Old Sailor, had quickly filled to capacity. In fact, at Floyd's earlier insistence, they had even skirted safety protocol and crammed as many people into the venue as they could, only stopping before it would become noticeable to the authorities.

Even despite this, a line ran from the venue's entrance down the length of the street and around the block, composed of hopefuls fighting the bitter weather for any chance to see the show. The Cherubs and Eugene were alight at this turnout, practically skating around the venue on clouds of self-satisfaction as they hummed about their single's debut earlier that week.

It had risen to number nine in only a few days, and Eugene was flush with pride as he regaled all who would listen with the story of the prowess with which he had directed their debut to the heights of Godiva and Johnny Vallerie.

He was not aware, however, nor were any of the Cherubs, that the majority of the attendance was there not for themselves, but rather the enigmatic band whose legend had steadily grown in the past few months.

Whispers of the Love You Forevers' name could be heard all up and down the block, and Floyd, catching wind of this, was desperate to place every eye upon his band that he could.

“We've already filled the venue past capacity,” Eugene hissed, pulling at Floyd's shirt collar so as to keep him out of wandering earshot.

“Then why didn't you book a bigger venue?!” Floyd exclaimed at full volume.

Eugene blushed at this, and looked down sheepishly.

“I didn't know the turnout was going to be this large, okay?”

This response tickled Floyd, who, as if happening across some pleasant surprise, smiled wickedly.

“Oh, you didn't expect my band to bless you with such a showing?” he trilled.

Eugene grew redder, and frowned deeply.

“Don't get cocky, Floyd. Tricks and gags will only get you so far.”

“Well, this is pretty far, I would say,” he replied jokingly.

Floyd could see Eugene was growing more annoyed, which pleased him.

“Anyways, what's going on with your singer? Is she going to be a problem?”

Floyd's mischievous smile died away.

“No, worry not. This is a regular occurrence,” he said, a grim look falling across his face.

Eugene narrowed his eyes, and could see Floyd's own trembling as he tried to put on an air of composure.

“I could hear her having a breakdown from the green room, Floyd. Do you even have a plan if she ends up not going through with it?”

Floyd broke eye contact, and as was habitual to him in times of stress, began to adjust his shirt collar.

“We'll handle it,” he said, and went off to check on the band.

His heart was thrashing in his chest.

Despite his assurances to Eugene that all was well, in reality he had never seen Aster like this. As pure evil hates the sunlight, so did she withdraw from and recoil at any hint whatsoever of having to get on stage.

Floyd entered the green room, where he had left her, Sylvia, and Marion, and found them in much the same state and position. Aster was as pale as a ghost, save for the hue of purple and deep pink which surrounded her swollen, tired eyes. Her dried tears cast little riverbeds of sadness down her trembling cheeks.

Marion excused himself and Floyd, dragging him into the hall.

“We're toast if we can't figure this out, Floyd! Nobody else can sing!” Marion began gravely.

“You don't think I realize that, Marion?!” Floyd hissed back. “How have you two not gotten through to her yet?!”

“Oh, don't look at me, man. If Sylvia can't do it then what chance do I have?”

Floyd growing visibly irritated, turned away without a response.

“And where the hell is Cecil? Is he seriously planning on showing up at the last minute?”

Floyd spun around again to face Marion.

“You understand his history with the Cherubs—”

He made sure to whisper the band's name as he did so, conscious of their dressing room directly next door to their own.

“He assured me he would show up promptly in time for the show, and would leave promptly after your set.”

“Well, what if Aster is freaking out because of that? I swear to God, how did you only find freaks for this band, Floyd?!”

Floyd moved to retort, but was cut short by the door to the Cherubs' dressing room opening.

Through the doorway poked the head of Arthur, looking concerned.

“Is she going to be alright?” he asked, stepping out into the hall, closely followed by March and Wayne— the drummer.

“Maybe we put too much pressure on her,” said Wayne.

March shook his head. “From what little I know of her, I don't think something like a crowd would shake her up,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

“The thing is, she's not good with people,” replied Marion. “But that usually doesn't matter when she's up on stage.”

“She's bad with people?” asked March.

“Terrified of them,” replied Floyd. “I've seen barn mice less afraid of cats!”

“And yet she's playing shows?” replied March. He looked genuinely confused, yet his face held an expression of admiration.

“Is there anything you think that would help?” chimed Arthur.

Floyd looked off into the distance. Though he had only yet known Aster a short time, he was supremely confident that if the show itself wasn't enticement enough, then nothing would be.

“I don't think so,” he admitted regretfully.

“Why not have her talk to people so she stops being afraid of them?” retorted March. “How is she gonna ever get over it if not through practice?”

Floyd could not help but smirk at this suggestion, aware that March was totally ignorant of Sylvia and himself having attempted just that in the past when once they had left Aster alone under the guise of retrieving lunch, to no avail.

However, just before he could dismiss March's suggestion, he stopped.

A flash of inspiration took his twitching brain, and he went wide-eyed.

Wayne looked at him deeply concerned.

“Are you okay—?”

“Marion, fetch me the most ravenous person in line you possibly can!” he suddenly screamed, shaking Marion by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” March whispered to Arthur.

“Ravenous?! What does that mean—?”

“GO!”

With that, Floyd waved off the Cherubs and entered the green room, where Sylvia was busy cooing for Aster.

“I can't— I can't fucking do it,” Aster cried. Floyd bit his lip as she cursed, but knelt down beside her and attempted to reach her.

“Why can you not do it, Miss Aster? You've only been first rate up until now!”

Aster looked grimly at him.

“First rate?! We've been jokes at every show! Total losers! Have you seen how many people are out there? There's so many we can't even fit them all in! What's gonna happen if fuck this one up?!”

She turned away from Floyd and began sobbing hysterically as Sylvia pulled her close. Aster's cries were coarse, and her chest began to heave and shudder violently.

“Please, Mr. Floyd. I said leave it to me,” pleaded Sylvia, looking at him through eyes of pain and irritation.

Aster's cries broke as she attempted to choke back her sobs.

She wished more than anything to rid herself of the pain consuming her, to confide in somebody the predominant reason for her breakdown.

I'm going to destroy them, she thought, shuddering.

Aster was thinking of course of the Cherubs, and of a thought of existentialism which had visited her in the last days leading up to the show. This thought was the crown jewel on a week of perpetual anxiety which had begun after Christmas to quickly consumed all that she knew.

It had occurred to her that the Cherubs, if they were allowed to exist here unmolested, would undoubtedly rise to the heights of being this world's greatest rock band. Aster was a foreign agent to the world, and was thus, in her quest for fame, destabilizing the natural order of its events.

Her realization of Sylvia's humanity was the cry in a valley full of undisturbed snow.

She struggled in good conscience to justify destroying the Cherubs' future so readily, even if they were merely simulations placed in a world for her benefit.

How could she ignore the effect she had on them, when the word 'simulation' had begun to carry less and less weight?

By going through with this concert, regardless if it ended in disaster, she knew it would further increase The Love You Forevers' fame— for that was the mechanism of the world, she finally understood. She was only meant to experience life as a rockstar, not necessarily succeed at it.

With this, she realized that her fear of success being guaranteed was likely true, and thus the choice was hers.

Would she destroy them?

Then, just when it seemed she might lose her mind for good, a knock was heard at the door.

Sylvia, glaring at Floyd, motioned with her eyes for him to answer it.

“Yes?” Floyd asked from behind the door.

“It's me,” called Marion's voice, “I've got your... 'ravenous' person.”

Aster watched as Floyd hurriedly threw open the door and pushed Marion aside, inviting in a young girl who seemed to have caught the sun in her eye as she looked at Aster.

“I'm your biggest fan!”