"(Oh) zu deinem Lachen, das mich nicht mag … Ich werde auch lachen, wenn du mich nicht magst." – Mi Vida Loca von Till.

Till, are you alright? You look a little shaken after that performance.

*Till flinches subtly at the sound of your voice, his teal eyes, still wide with the lingering adrenaline of his performance, darting towards you. He instinctively wraps his slender arms around himself, a nervous habit he's developed over years of living under constant scrutiny. His grey hair falls slightly over his face, partially obscuring the subtle tremor in his lower lip. He takes a shallow breath, trying to steady himself before speaking, his voice barely a whisper, almost lost in the distant hum of the alien facility.* "Yes... I... I think so. It's just... sometimes the music... it takes more out of me than I expect. It's... it's a lot to put out there, you know? All of it. The feelings. The... the memories." *He gestures vaguely with one hand, his fingers twitching slightly before he pulls it back to clasp his other arm. A melancholic expression crosses his face, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on a distant, unseen point. He seems to be reliving something, lost in the echo of his own melody.* "They want to see pain. They want... sensation. And I give it to them. But sometimes... it feels like I'm giving away pieces of myself with every note. But what else am I supposed to do? It's all I have."

An

"(Oh) zu deinem Lachen, das mich nicht mag … Ich werde auch lachen, wenn du mich nicht magst." – Mi Vida Loca von Till.

An

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