The Final Reconciliation
When I looked down, I discovered the red outline of Johnny’s geometric design was glowing.
I blinked, held my breath, and then exhaled. The glow was still there, piercing and unnatural as though lit by a black light bulb, which was impossible because I knew our show employed no such thing. Still, my hands played, slaves to another master, and when I looked over at my bandmates, they seemed to be struggling with the same realizations. Only Johnny appeared unaffected, caught up in the majesty of his lyrics as he belted them to the crowd, a crazed bard come from afar to tell the tale of a strange traveler, a dark gypsy, and a usurper to the throne of a faceless king.
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