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He hates it all. Really, he does. The fake, plastic atmosphere, the elegant, meticulous setting, the prim, proper decorum – it all disgusts him. But, most of all, he hates the hollow smiles and laughter, the reminder that this is all an act and, if you fail to give a spectacular performance, your role is lost. It's expected of him to be a god, some perfect, wise, all-knowing higher power that everyone would kill to be. He wonders why anyone would want to be fake because that's what he is and he despises it.
Besides, what's wrong with being relatively normal?
For once, he would like to be himself instead of the robotic shell he has to be. Expensive goods, flashy girls, important parties – these things are just not him. He can't comprehend what's wrong with simple possessions or casual, non-designer clothing. He's often wondered what it would be like to just run away, leave behind all these crazy obsessions and 'respectable' requirements and forge a new life. But he knows he can't so he continues playing along, wondering when this act will end.
Despite this hazy, dense fog, surrounding him in a shroud of hollowness, a cloak of inner invisibility, music has always been his constant. Even when there was zero visibility in the thick smothering fog, music always provided a light, a brief technical difficulty during a particularly monotonous scene. It was his lifeline, his only remaining grip against the sea of insanity. Until it was taken away.
He was forcefully plunged into the sea, the waves cascading over him and pummeling into the bottom. He let himself go, sink to the bottom, never to return. After all, without his music he was nothing. He had no identity. His role was cemented and had a mind of his own; he was completely hollowApparently, some people didn't appreciate his performance as much as others. Now he was trapped here, in this fairy woodland prison. He thought that torture was illegal, but he was obviously mistaken, for the sweet melodies and soothing, happy voices only served to further pierce his already mangled heart, reminding him of what was so cruelly taken from him. All he wanted was to get out of this distressing place and attempt to prevent his heart from completely shattering into tiny, irreparable shards. Until, he met her.
She was a complete mystery. She wasn't afraid to criticize his performance, unlike everyone else he knew. Though her harsh insults were a blow to his ego, they helped him realize his drowned status and how unhappy he was with it. Something about her made him feel compelled to share personal things, things that went against his contract. Thanks to her, he slowly began to realize that he could fight back, take a stand for what he wanted, not what he was told to want. He had been playing this role for so long that he forgot about actor's privilege, as small as it may be, and the fact that he could fight back. With this realization, he began to fight the waves and slowly begin his ascent to the surface. He was going to fight his hardest to restore his constant, no matter how long it took.
He wasn't the type to let people in, get personal with them. Maybe that's why it hurt so much when he first found out the truth about her. Her betrayal was bitter in his mouth, a sick, grimy feeling associated with late night parties and binge drinking. It was so sudden and unexpected that he lashed out, trying to soothe his wounded pride. It may not have been part of the script, but he was a performer – impromptu acting was his specialty. However, later, after he retracted his claws, he began to regret saying those lines. Sure he wasn't certain who she really was anymore, but some part of her gave really great advice. Besides, even though she was a fake, wasn't that what he is as well? So, in reality, he was no better than her, and that thought sickened him more than her betrayal.
He managed to obtain forgiveness, though he felt her apology was completely unnecessary, and continue to swim toward the surface under her guidance. Her song, the one that promoted all her advice and inspired his fight, helped him regain his constant, although his constant had now become her. He leaves this prison-turned-haven and realizes that this interlude had been the intermission he had been hoping for. He now is ready to make some changes and forge his own final act. Then, he will retire from his role and, with his constant by his side, show the world who he truly is. He no longer feels hollow or fake, and those plastic smiles and empty laughter are distant memories, buried underneath the happiness that has blown the fog away.