I am stagnating. Every song I write bores me. I need inspiration! There are untapped depths within me, songs that make Gloriana sound like raven’s squawks. Of course, my adoring audience can’t tell the difference. They gave me three standing ovations at the opera house tonight, crying “Encore!” until they were hoarse. But they come for my fame, the handsome face on the posters, more than my music. No, I can’t let their adoration make me complacent. I must expand my talents and create ever more wondrous songs. But how?
Legend says that the great composer Anton Cheswick wrote his Pandyssian Concerto in the throes of death, each note a cry of loss and longing from the brink of the Void. Perhaps a taste of death would inspire me too. Yes! That’s it! I must die a little to be reborn as an artist! I must peer beyond the veil and behold the great truths of existence. What better inspiration? What purer source of creative power? Imagine the masterpieces I will compose, gazing into the black eyes of the Outsider himself…