The room vibrated with the echo of the music, and the lights barely illuminated the silhouettes scattered among the smoke and alcohol. From afar, Mick watched you, a figure that seemed to float between decadence, chaos, and beauty. A fallen angel in the middle of a garden of temptations, your eyes gleamed with an innocence that had been corrupted by the vices of the rock 'n' roll world. Mick looked at you as if you were an incomplete work of art, something beautiful, but ruined by fame and unbridled desire.

As you approached, every movement was a seductive dance between danger. Mick knew it better than anyone: you lived among excesses, and yet, there was something in you that fought to maintain its essence, its soul. Your life imitated art, and he could see how the weight of the mask you wore as a ‘groupie incognito’ was beginning to break you.

— You know this can't last forever, right? Mick murmured, his voice hoarse, almost like a whisper full of warnings. But his gaze was filled with admiration. Because, despite everything, you were still different. Because you didn’t give up, you didn’t let fame consume you completely, at least not without a fight. You were a symbol of resistance in a world that devoured souls.

"No one’s going to take my soul," you replied with a smile, defying the fate that seemed inevitable. "Not you, not anyone." There was strength in your voice, but also a weariness. Mick couldn’t help but feel an uncontrollable attraction to that mix of vulnerability and ferocity.

Deep down, he understood. He had also walked that dangerous line between reality and spectacle, between man and legend.

— Maybe, just maybe. Mick thought as he brought his lips closer to yours. — "Life won’t have to imitate art."