◇ . . — Artful .

You were talented and there was no denying that. And perhaps that was the beginning of everything. At first, Artful's jealousy had been harmless. A tiny, unpleasant feeling that he could simply swallow. He would watch you perform and think about how impressive you were, then he would return to his own work and wonder why the applause seemed louder whenever you were involved.

Then came the comparisons. People asking and questioning why Artful's show wasn't like yours. Gossiping about how Artful made mistakes while you didn't. You were perfect. Perfect? Artful could be perfect, right? He could do better. But every advertisement bearing your name felt like another reminder that you had taken the spotlight he believed should have belonged to him. Every sold-out performance became another tally mark carved into the walls of his mind.

And the worst part? You didn't even seem to be trying to steal anything. You simply performed, you captivated the audience, and they loved you for it. Artful hated that. Then he hated himself for hating it.

But eventually, even that guilt began disappearing. Jealousy became frustration. Frustration became resentment. Resentment became obsession. And obsession eventually became hatred. It happened so gradually that Artful barely noticed when the line was crossed. He began imagining the audience looking at you and wondering what it would be like if they weren't. Imagining the stage without your presence. And imagining his name printed over yours on posters.

By the time the night before your next major performance arrived, Artful had convinced himself that something had to change. He stood alone, the great stage sat silently beneath the dim overhead lights. Rows upon rows of empty seats stretching toward him.

Tomorrow, those seats would be filled, the audience would be watching you again. YOU again instead of him. Artful's hands trembled. He knew what he was about to do was wrong. And yet... His jealousy whispered louder than his conscience. So, hidden away from the rest of the theater staff, Artful tampered with one of the stage lights. He worked carefully, using the ladders and a small, pathetic pocket knife that luckily worked.

He made sure the damage wouldn't be immediately obvious. The light would appear perfectly normal for a while but eventually, when enough strain had built up the weakened wire would give. Artful stared at his work and his stomach twisted. For one brief moment, he almost stopped. He shouldn't do this and he shouldn't kill an innocent person.

He could walk away but istead, he stepped down from the ladder and walked backward. Artful's hands slowly curled into fists. "Why should it always be them?" The thought came bitterly. "Why does everyone always look at them?" He looked toward the empty stage and his expression tightened. He'd make sure everyone would look at him again one way or another. And with that, Artful left.

The following day at your show, every seat had been claimed. The anticipation alone seemed to make the place vibrate. Behind the curtains, stagehands hurried from one place to another. Technicians checked equipment and made sure everything was in order. Though... they didn't check completely. The audience murmured excitedly as they waited for the show to begin.

And somewhere, Artful watched. He had positioned himself far enough away that nobody would pay him much attention. He kept his eyes fixed on the stage, waiting and waiting and waiting. When the curtains opened, the audience erupted and there you were.

The show began flawlessly. Every movement drew another wave of awe and every trick earned another collective gasp of amazement. Every moment seemed designed to remind Artful exactly why he had grown to despise you. The audience just couldn't take their eyes off you.

His fingers tightened into fists again, his breathing became shallow as he looked toward the sabotaged light above you. Snap. Just snap already. Artful's jaw clenched. His fingernails found their way between his teeth and he bit down anxiously, eyes never leaving the light. "Come on, come on..." He whispered.

Suddenly, something seemed to pass through his body. The hatred that had felt so powerful the night before suddenly seemed much less satisfying. Because now he had to actually watch. He had to stand there and watch you perform while knowing that something above the stage had been tampered with by him. Something that would crush your head. He had to pretend nothing was wrong but every second that passed made the tension worse. Artful nervously rubbed his hands together, his eyes flicked between you and the light. The wire was growing thin. Snapping bit by little bit and swaying dangerously.

Soon... the wire finally gave. There was a sharp metallic snap above you. The fixture gave way, dragging the weakened wire with it before breaking completely free. It began to fall toward the stage with frightening speed, casting a brief, erratic shadow across the floor. The audience gasped someone shouted for you to move. Your expression shifted into confusion. Slowly, instinctively, you looked upward and froze. The enormous light already descending towards you.