Kira executed a flawless double spin on the polished stage.
Her legs burned with deep lactic acid fatigue. She wore a heavy diamond encrusted ballgown designed to look like a princess. It felt like a suit of armor crushing her ribs.
She forced a bright smile for the roaming broadcast cameras. Her internal reality was a nightmare.
She pushed air through her swollen vocal cords. She hit the high nasal pitch demanded by the corporate producers. The friction tore at her unhealed tissue. She tasted fresh copper blood in the back of her throat.
She was dying on live television to pay a debt she did not incur. The Overseas Music Group extracted her soul to pad their quarterly earnings.
Fifty five thousand fans in the Tokyo Dome waved pink neon light sticks. They screamed in blind devotion. T
