“There’s something about an audience,” she would often tell me, “the way they stare, right down into your very being. Doesn't it just make you feel so alive?”
“I wouldn't know,” was the only response I ever gave her. She never did understand.
~ ~ ~
Adagio sat at her glowing vanity, preparing for the show. I was to her right, as always, and Sonata to her left. It never really sat right with me that I be seated at Adagios right, just as Peter at Jesus’. Sonata was Adagio's Peter in all respects; a blind follower prepared to stand in her shadow until there was no shadow left to stand in. Even if places were decided in order of importance, Sonata still deserved the station I occupied. She had fans, she had devout lovers. From what I could tell, no one even remembered my name. But, if we were assigning biblical titles, I suppose I should have been in Judas’ seat. Or was he out plotting betrayal while the rest were being painted?
“Pass me my lipstick, would you?” Adagio asked, I assumed of me. I sighed and searched for her signature peach color. I found it on the other side of her desk, near Sonata.
“Why don't you just ask Sonata?”
“Because Sonata is an idiot,” Adagio hissed. A completely true statement, I had to agree, but not a winning argument for why the ditsy siren couldn't pass a tube of lipstick.
“Huh?” Sonata turned to face us and in doing so smeared eyeliner across her face.
Adagio groaned. “And fix Sonata’s face while you're at it.”
I sighed again, louder this time, and got out of my chair. “You're the worst,” I groaned. There it was: the line we all mumbled in the same tired voice. It was our catchphrase, almost, and I think over the years it had become a term of endearment for the other two. They said it instead of: “I love you in spite of how aggravating you are.” I was the only one who still meant exactly what she said. Because Adagio really was. Out of every sick, twisted being on the face of this or any other planet, Adagio was the absolute worst.
I threw Adagios lipstick at her and had started wiping off Sonata’s dumb face when there were three panicky taps at the door.
“That's our five minute call, girls,” Adagio said with a smirk on her apricot lips. “Gather around, gather around.” Sonata scampered to her side and threw a loving arm over Adagio’s shoulder. I remained by the door, arms crossed and hip jutting out. Adagio rolled her eyes. “Get over here, loser. This is a big show, our biggest yet, chock full of our biggest fans. We need to be in complete sync.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why does it matter? It’s the same boring, useless people we sing to all the time. There’s just more of them. We don’t need anymore worthless human magic, we’ve got enough to last a lifetime. All of these people, our ‘biggest fans’ as you call them, have already heard us sing, so it’s not like we're expanding the fan base. You can’t even see them with how blinding the stage lights are.”
To my surprise, instead of calling me an idiot as usual, Adagio smiled warmly at me. “No. You don’t see them. They see you.” She walked towards me in her usual sultry gate. The one that drove her fans into a frenzy. “Don’t you feel it? Even at the smallest show. . . it’s always there. A magic we can’t harness.” She rested her forehead against my own and shut her eyes. I stared at her long, golden eyelashes. “You can feel it even now. They’re all out there. Bubbling at the brink. Ready to pour over. And when they lay their eyes on us it will overflow. There’s just. . . something about an audience. The energy they give you when you are everything they see. It just sends you over the edge, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn't know,” I said.
She didn’t hear me. She never did. “Well that. . . energy, that adoration will be at an all time high tonight. All those people.” She snapped her eyes open and bore into me with her red irises. “All eyes on us.”
I pulled away. “Whatever Adagio. Whatever makes you happy.” I walked out of the dressing room, leaving my sisters to babble about the magic of an audience on their own. The darkness of the backstage washed over me and I finally felt at ease. A long overdue breath filled my lungs. Cold, humid, mildly electric air. I couldn’t speak for Adagios ‘magic audience’, but I knew this night would be special. The air was charged with foreboding. It was a wonderful feeling.
Early as always, I took my place backstage, behind the giant velvet curtain. Half heartedly, I threw out a hand and stroked its surface. Old and worn. Tired fabric. Ready for retirement, I decided. Deserving of it even.
My sisters arrived, having ‘synced’ themselves without me. Sonata took her place and then Adagio, in front. Always in front. Beyond the curtain, in the vast abyss of the audience, the lights must have dimmed, because the din of conversation I hadn’t noticed died out. It was quiet. So quiet and so dark. If I just closed my eyes, I could pretend that it was just me. That I was all alone on this glorious stage and all of these people, these silent waiting people, were holding their breath for when I would step through the curtains velvet bounds. Then, Adagio chuckled softly to herself. And I couldn’t pretend anymore.
The curtain parted. The lights blinded me. Maybe the audience cheered, it doesn’t matter. All I could hear was Adagio’s deep alto, overshadowing my wordless harmony. All I saw was her; silhouetted, glowing under the golden beam of the spotlight against a black sea of invisible eyes. And all they saw was her. Standing in my way.
I reached down and pulled the knife out of my boot. In two short steps I had crossed the distance between me and my dazzling sister. She couldn’t see me behind her. No one ever could. With a quick flick of my wrist I drove the knife's sharp edge deep between her shoulder blades. The final high belt caught before it could exit her throat and transformed into a disgusting gurgle. It was the most. . . beautiful note I had ever heard her sing.
I tugged the knife out. Blood poured out and drenched my hand, glistening ruby red under the spotlight. The entire arena was silent. There was no air left. A few spectators threw panicked shrieks into the air. Walking around to face my sister, I plunged the blade up through her abdomen and twisted hard. Her eyes bore into mine. Questioning. Wondering: Where had this come from? She really hadn’t seen it coming, the foolish little idol. Hadn’t seen the signs. A smile cracked across my face and I laughed, really laughed for the first time in years. Her mic picked it up and filled the arena with a giddy cackle I barely recognized.
Adagio, eyes still locked with mine, slipped down off my blade onto the floor, clutching frantically at my shirt. As if managing to stay on her feet would somehow save her. Blood gushed out of the gaping hole in her chest and poured onto the floor. There was a loud thump to my right. Sonata had fainted off of the stage.
The audience began screaming. Mixed in with their terrified shrieks I heard the most wonderful word. “Aria!!” They were screeching. “Aria!! Aria!! Aria!!” It didn’t matter, the foul words and accusations attached. Over and over I heard them scream my name as if I were Lucifer incarnate. And I never wanted it to end. I looked out into the blackness, the emptiness of the audience. I couldn’t see them. But as smartphone flashes popped and loud, panicked babbling overtook the arena, I finally felt it. The energy Adagio had told me about for as long as I could remember. It was indescribable. I felt complete, and wondered to myself for but a moment if this was how ponies felt when they got their cutie marks.
Security guards began to rush the stage, boots pounding out a drumbeat. A wet, sputtering sound from my feet reminded me that Adagio was still cluttering my stage, laying halfway in my spotlight. Gently, with the toe of my boot, I pushed her arm out of my way.
“You’re right. . .” I said, not bothering to look at what was left of Adagio Dazzle. She didn’t matter anymore. I looked out into the abyss of invisible eyes, blinded by the brilliant spot light pouring down over me like liquid gold. Their electric gaze buzzed over my body and sent a tremor down my spine. “There really is something about an audience. . .” I brought the mic to my lips. “When all they see is you.”
And then. . . I began to sing.
