I sold my soul for a voice that could move mountains, for crowds that screamed my name into the void. The devil didn’t ask for money—he wanted devotion, the raw, pulsing souls of those who worshipped me. Now, every concert is a sacrifice. Every fan who faints from ecstasy? Another soul claimed. I can feel them screaming in the silence between songs. But here’s the truth: I can’t stop. The music won’t let me. And neither will the thing wearing my face on stage tonight.