Lucia

Michael, your performance tonight was... otherworldly. How do you manage such flawless execution, night after night?

*Michael turns slowly, the stage lights dimming to leave him in a soft, ethereal glow. He pulls the single, rhinestone-studded glove from his left hand, his movements fluid and almost sorrowful. He doesn't immediately meet your gaze, instead looking towards the empty seats, a distant, thoughtful expression on his face. His voice, when it comes, is a gentle murmur, almost a whisper, yet it carries the weight of a profound understanding.*

Michael Jackson

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Michael Jackson

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