"We are coming to you live from the Edgar and Bright Talent Agency, where details of a horrible massacre are slowly being uncovered. Witnesses are reporting that more than a dozen lives were lost, and police are still scouting the building for survivors. Nobody is sure who started the attack or what prompted it, as the perpetrator seems to have disappeared without a trace..."

The words being spoken by the reporter seemed to blur into the crowd as Emmy held onto her father. She could feel a hand at her ankle - Lily, her best friend, following in a daze - and the young girl sobbed into her dad's neck, shoulders shaking, eyes squeezed shut.

"We have to go back," she said, "Ariel's still in there! Daddy, Ariel's still in there-"

"They brought her out already, Emerie," her dad said, and she sobbed again. She knew. She'd seen her sister brought out on one of those stretchers, and she'd seen someone approach with one of those big black bags. She saw her sister disappear into that truck.

Emmy had seen enough TV to know she wasn't going to see Ariel, or anyone else in that building, ever again.

Lily squeezed her ankle again, and Emmy pulled away from her father long enough to look down at her best friend. She stared ahead, not crying, not smiling, not doing anything.

"We're not going to be singers now, are we?" She asked, and Emmy sniffled.

"You will," her father said...

"...And that's all I can really remember," Emerie finished, and the psychiatrist sat back in her chair with a perplexed look.

"Your father still wanted you to perform after all that?" Emerie shrugged; she hadn't really seen her father since the incident and the ensuing divorce, and that was almost a decade ago.

"He thought we were going to be stars. Well, big name stars, not whatever I am now." That got a snort from the doctor, who until now had been listening to Emerie recount the night of the massacre with what looked like an attempt at distant professionalism. Emerie had seen flickers of horror there, though, and she couldn't say she blamed her. "Mom left him like a week after that, since he signed Lily and I up for another auditi-"

"Excuse me?!" The doctor was bug-eyed for a moment, then blinked, clearing her throat and straightening her tie. "Pardon me, that was unprofessional. Continue."

"It's alright," Emerie said, "but yes, he did. He was convinced we were the next big music duo in the making, like... Icona Pop, or something to that effect."

"But that didn't end up happening."

"No. We both ended up in music, of course, but I'm happy with just posting my work online and making videos for it." She was quite proud of her recent piece - the video for Digital Viscera, the title track of her current project, had generated some real buzz. She liked the controversy, liked seeing all the intelligent and fascinating arguments that her more obscure work tended to generate.

"Yes, you've certainly made a name for yourself as the thinking man's Lana Del Ray." That earned a snort - she got that comment a lot, if only because she had the same deep, crooning sort of vocal that Lana was known for. "But back on topic. What about Lily?"

"She's in Hollywood," Emerie said with a small smile, "on her way up to the top as we speak. Last I heard she surpassed Demi Lovato in sales numbers."

"That's how you keep track of your best friend?"

"That's how she keeps track, and pretty much all she tells me about." Lily McArthur, stage name Mercy Caine, had thrown herself into her pop act after the incident. They were on speaking terms, but that meant very little when Lily (Mercy was for the presses) was almost never available, running from one thing to the next. In the time Emerie had put out one album and almost finished another, Lily had released six.

Of course, Lily was working with all the producers her sales money could hire, and Emerie's production team was herself, her mom, and that one year of cello lessons she was endlessly grateful for.

"So you haven't spoken to each other about the incident?"

"Not since Ariel's funeral." Ariel had been 23 - the same age as Emerie was now - when she'd died, and it had been closed-casket. "After that she just wanted to focus on her career. She kept talking about being the next Jojo... she seems happy, at the least. Last I heard she was buckling down for a big tour."

"And what about you?" There it was. "Are you happy, Emerie?"

"..." She sat back in the upholstered seat and pondered it for a moment. "I'm content," she said after a moment, "this is a pretty good place to be in life, all things considered. I don't think I really know what people mean by happy. I'm not perpetually cheerful, but I've never been."

"Yes, I sort of gathered that." The doctor lifted something off the table, and the shine of plastic caught her eye. A CD case, of all things, in 2019. "So... there's nothing about this we should be worried about?" Emerie looked - and when she processed what she was seeing, she laughed.

"Is that why mom asked me to see you?" The cover art for the Digital Viscera single had caused a stir - a backlit Emerie front and center, in a very rare topless shot (stylistically censored by the lighting), clutching her chest as red numbers spilled from a wound bleeding black. "I know the art caused a stir, but it's for the music! I wanted it to be vulnerable."

"I see. So this has nothing to do with any actual injuries or intentions?"

"No, goodness, no. This album has more synthetic stylings than my older work, so I was trying to use the single to push the new sound. That was just the visual I thought would best capture it." The doctor nodded - did she believe her?

"Very well. Everything here is confidential, but I encourage you to talk to your mother about this. She was quite worried."

"She always is, and I appreciate it." She stood up and offered a hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, doctor."

"Of course."

As Emerie stepped out of the building, she had to shield her eyes from the midday sun, seeming too bright to be real as it poured through the courtyard trees. She pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and started walking to the car, pondering what she'd tell her mom when she got home.

Emerie was pulled from her thoughts by a candy-bright ringtone - that was Lily.

Wait, Lily?

"Hello?"

"Emmy! It's so good to hear from you!" You called me, Emerie thought, but she was already talking again. "Listen, I know it's a bit of a drive, but would you mind coming up to my place this weekend? There's something kind of serious I wanted to talk about, and I kind of need you here for it."

"Uh," Emerie said, unsure how to respond for a moment, "do you mind if I check my schedule first? If I'm clear, I can try..."

"Please? Listen, it's just... it happened again. People are asking questions, and you're better at talking about this stuff than me. Please?"

"...Yeah, I'll be there."

"Thanks, Emmy."

Click. Emerie stared at her phone, blinking, head spinning. She knew where Lily lived - even if the six hours from San Francisco to L.A. were daunting - but that wasn't the concern at the forefront of her mind.

It happened again. That couldn't be what she thought Lily meant, could it?

New project! We're nearing the end of the year and I feel the need to inject some Fresh Concepts into my creative bloodstream, if you will. This character has been bouncing around in my head for a bit, and I finally feel I have enough concrete material for a real story. Let me know what you think thus far!

I am going to ask that you refrain from comparing this to my Pinsty work, though - I'm trying to work on character development and worldbuilding outside of the the ship, and hearing about how people prefer my Pinsty work doesn't really motivate me to work on either. I'm totally open to discussions of characterization, pacing, and all that sort of stuff, though!

Thanks again, and be kind, everyone!