As soon as the stage lights had dimmed and the fans cheered the loudest they had cheered during that ritual, Phantom dragged himself off the stage. He was the first in line, and didn't even bother to look around to see what the others would be doing. He followed his feet staright back to the dressing room, throwing himself down in a chair in front of a vanity.

His clothes were itching, his mask claustrophobically close to his face. He needed to change out of them, but his energy was utterly depleted. He felt like he was fully drained, not even able to get himself into more comfortable clothes.

He stared in front of him, zoning out, trying not to let everything that had gone wrong get to him. Somehow, the show had felt brighter and louder than usual, the crowd more rowdy and demanding, the clothes tighter, the air hotter. So many things were weighing down on him. And he was just trying not to crumble.