The Queen steps forward, the hush of the theater falling like a shroud.
“And there he was… Evan, child of dusk and dissonance.
With trembling hands, he unearthed the earphones — relics of an ache he no longer named.
A sound unfurled, delicate and decayed…
‘So long... and goodnight…’
A lullaby not for sleep, but for the burial of self.
In the glove compartment, a vial of black dye shimmered — not vanity, no.
A eulogy in pigment.
He mourns not a lover, not a friend… but the version of himself he left behind in the rearview mirror.
Let the lights dim. Let the chorus weep.”
She curtsies in silence, and the curtain falls.
heheh i made it up in my velvet style , friend
