Ever since Lorelei was four, she had a camera in her hand.
First, it was one of those themed kids' cameras—a happy Pikachu framed every photo she took, from pictures of her mom reading a book to Lucas's baseball games to the old holly tree in their backyard. She figured her parents saw potential in her work, for she received a digital camera on her ninth birthday. It was bright red with a wrist strap that left a tan line on her arm during their family vacation to the beach. But it all changed one evening when she tested the video capture feature on a butterfly.
The little thing fluttered back and forth around a bush outside of an Olive Garden, its golden wings catching the hues of the sunset. She'd marveled at its beauty, staying there and capturing videos of it for so long her parents began calling to her from inside the running car. She rode back to their hotel that night, flipping through the butterfly clips, without the heart to delete any of them. Something sparked in her heart that night. For the rest of the trip, all around her, kids her age played in the waves and built sandcastles, but there she sat, looking at the world through her lens until her memory card was all used up.
The entire drive back home, she listened to music and stared out the window in a trance, watching the trees and signs pass with the beat of the music in her headphones. She felt the music in everything and saw it in moving pictures, imagining how a shot would transition from the moving blur out the window to a side profile of a girl blowing dandelions into the wind. Not Lorelei herself, though—it was never her. She was meant to be the one behind the lens, not the one in front of it.
Even so, that little red camera was long gone, as were the days of family vacations. So Lacey bouncing against the barricade behind the blurred lens of Lorelei's cracked phone would have to suffice.
Lacey stopped, looking into the camera. "Do you always have to get so close?"
Lorelei zoomed in, focusing on Lacey's long, black nails as she held onto her phone. In the background, several people shouted the lyrics to a Holding Absence song playing over the speakers.
"Do you always have to pull me into your shenanigans?" Lorelei countered.
Lacey narrowed her eyes at Lorelei. "Be happy. They're playing your favorite band."
"If only it were them we were seeing, instead."
Lacey rolled her eyes as Lorelei turned her phone camera toward the stage. Smoke from the hidden machine glowed blue in the low lights. The stage crew moved around, making last adjustments to the set. It all seemed to hang in waiting for the main act—the mysterious masked group whose music was becoming the best in the post-hardcore industry. Melodic and emotional undertones were fused into their sound, leaving their songs with a special style. Their music resonated with everyone in one way or another, and, no matter how much Lorelei had tried to deny it, she was finding herself being sucked into their whirlwind along with everyone else, thanks to Lacey.
The Holding Absence song ended as another one started up that Lorelei didn't recognize. She stopped recording the atmosphere and locked her phone, sliding it into her back pocket. The excitable crowd churned around them, but she stood rooted to the spot, taking in the mass of voices behind her.
"Do you think they would be as popular if they weren't anonymous?" someone asked.
"People like them for their music, not who they are."
"I don't know," another chimed in. "I think the mystery is part of the gimmick. They wouldn't be the same."
"I heard Echo is just trying to cover up some major controversy. Doesn't want people to know his history."
At this, Lorelei furrowed her brow, suddenly picking up voices from every direction—"I heard he's dating some big-name singer." "He can't handle the pressure." "It's all a marketing stunt."
A dozen theories on Willow's anonymity filled the air, and she turned, watching a group of people a few feet away. Their faces shifted in and out of shadows. More instinct than intent drew her eye—her internal lens adjusting without thinking to every change in light, to every unexpected angle, to a small circle of people with arms crossed, bodies leaning in, energy high, and criticism higher.
"The lyrics are so emo," a girl with a tight ponytail declared, tilting her head for effect. "I think it's kind of obvious he's depressed."
Lorelei focused past them, finding interest in a figure standing at the edge of the group. The girl couldn't have been older than sixteen, with bright, honest features and a homemade Willow shirt that stood out in a sea of black.
"They have to hide," she insisted, face set with all the certainty in the world. "from all the bullshit people like you spout about them."
Lorelei's eyes flew wide, tapping Lacey on the arm rapidly and flicking her head toward the confrontation. Lacey would normally jump in, ready to defend Willow at all costs. But it was clear the high of being front and center outweighed the empty words everyone around them was spewing.
"Caught in the swirl?" Lacey's voice carried over the chaos. Lorelei turned to see a wide grin. "You look far more interested than usual."
"Well, I didn't think it'd be so..." Lorelei started, trailing off as she glanced around. She wanted to say critical, but she knew it was more than that.
Lacey snorted. "Look at you, soaking up the drama. Don't worry about it. Someone's always talking out of their ass about Echo. It's been this way since the last album came out. These people are all so bored with their own lives, they have to obsess over someone else's."
Lorelei let out a low hum, eyes still on the young girl in the group. She wiped her eyes, blinking several times while focusing on the empty stage. Even Lorelei felt herself bristling at the harsh words and how sharp and insistent they were. She understood the risks of trying to create something personal and how exposing it can feel—fragile—the quickness of others to judge you when you're vulnerable.
"I don't know," Lorelei sighed, turning her attention to the guitar techs roaming the stage. "Makes me think these people can't have ever—" She stopped, realizing she was losing her usual restraint, words coming out more like Lacey's than hers.
"Been in the ring themselves?" Lacey finished for her, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged. "People can be trash. They don't know what it's like to make something that close to the bone, to put your heart into creating something only to have strangers tear it apart."
It was the directness, more than anything, that hit Lorelei. A few months before, she shared the opinion of those who dismissed Willow's masked presentation as a publicity stunt. She hadn't been keen on the idea when she first heard about it, certain that such an image was nothing more than a gimmick. The spectacle of anonymity had seemed strange to her—an artistically bankrupt move disguised as creativity. She thought it too clever and calculated, coming from an industry that often values style over substance. She imagined faceless men behind the sound, wondering if anything genuine was hiding underneath the masks, or if the surface was all there was. Now, caught in the whirlwind of conjecture, her first impulses didn't seem so straightforward.
"Yeah," Lorelei admitted, looking toward the cluster of critics again. Her eyes tracked them as they continued their fevered exchange. "Maybe the anonymity is a shield."
"Now you're getting it." Lacey smiled, her voice less sharp now, like she understood exactly where Lorelei's thoughts had taken her. "You have the luxury of hiding behind the lens to create what you love. Echo is no different—he just has a mask instead."
Lorelei leaned over the barricade, staring at the floor and pondering Lacey's words. It was never clear—making art—which shields you need to keep, and which you need to let go.
An unexpected dimming of lights sent the crowd into a frenzy. The air tightened, and the space went black, then exploded with color. Spotlights swept over masked figures, the bright hues reflecting off guitars and drums, splashing over a sea of heads. Lorelei's ribcage was pressed against the barrier, caught in the surge of excitement, and yet she felt none of it. Her eyes locked onto the figure who commanded the front of the stage. A blue mask half-concealed his face. He pulled every eye toward him as he reached for the mic. And within moments, Lorelei was transfixed, held by more than the physical crush around her.
Then his raw voice poured over them like wildfire.