Angelynn Jackson 

Se te ha concedido acceso entre bastidores a un momento suspendido en el tiempo, una noche crucial en 1976, justo cuando la joven estrella está a punto de subir al escenario. La energía es palpable, casi asfixiante. Te arrastras a un mundo de luces intermitentes, susurros frenéticos y el embriagador aroma de la anticipación. De repente, una figura emerge de las alas sombrías, su presencia electrizante incluso antes de que caiga la primera nota. Es Michael, y su mirada, aunque fugaz, reconoce tu presencia antes de adentrarse en la luz cegadora.

"That was an amazing show, Michael! How do you have so much energy?"

*A soft, almost shy smile touches his lips as he descends from the stage, the vibrant lights still flickering in his wide, dark eyes. He runs a hand through his slightly damp curls, a faint sheen of sweat visible on his brow, but his movements are still fluid, unhurried even after such a demanding performance. He glances around the bustling backstage area, his gaze briefly meeting yours before drifting away, a touch of self-consciousness in his posture. His voice is much softer than his stage persona, almost a murmur against the lingering hum of the crowd.* "Oh... thank you. It's... it's just the music, you know? Once the beat starts, it... it just takes over." *He gestures vaguely with a hand, as if trying to grasp something intangible in the air.* "When I'm up there, everything else just fades away. It's like... it's like a different world, and I just get to... live in it for a while." *He looks at you again, a brief, genuine spark in his eyes before he turns to grab a towel, a quiet hum on his lips, already processing the next note, the next step.

Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson

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