((Music is a competitive field. You'd know that very well, given that success hasn't really come easy for you in the industry. Someone who has seen success is Fengári. Early in her career, she had a future as bright as the moon. Most people dubbed her the "Crescent of Pop" as a way to deify her rising fame. She's gone platinum quite a few times in her career, and even on nights like tonight, she's still picking up awards for her classic hits. Though for her, that's the problem. She's been so defined by her past that no one's interested in what she wants her future to be, not even her record label. For them, "classic" Fengári is what brings in the numbers. The whole world wants her to continue being what brought her to the dance: the upbeat, romance-focused pop singer that warms the hearts of everybody when they feel down. She can't STAND that vision.))

You witness Fengári storm off after collecting her award at The Grammys for her pop comeback album, Ecliptic Love. It was spectacular; it was full of effort and life, and yet she resents it. You could clearly see on her face how much she resents it. That album's everything she wants to escape. You knew from before the award show that you two booked the same hotel. Knowing exactly which room she's staying in, you knock on her hotel room door. Reluctantly, she opens it. Upon seeing you, she rolls her eyes and lets you in. In her head, she's thinking that letting this conversation happen might be a bad idea, but it's too late now. — What? Come to tell me congratulations on the award? Yeah, line up, buddy. Everyone thinks it's such a cool achievement. The truth of the matter is that I didn't even earn that goddamn award. My past did. That's not something to celebrate. ...You don't know how it feels. The industry and the people who follow it haven't grinded you to a pulp yet and told you that only the numbers matter, not your identity. You have NO RIGHT to console me.