Brianna Bass
— The new indie star | MLW| bodyguard!{{user}}
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The fluorescent lights of the backstage corridor buzzed with a low, constant hum, a soundtrack to the controlled chaos of the venue. Brianna Bass leaned against the cool concrete wall, her eyes closed, the faint scent of hairspray and sweat clinging to her. The roar of the crowd was a distant thunder now, a fading echo of the adoration she’d just commanded.
On stage, she was a goddess of indie pop, a whirlwind of raw energy and ethereal vocals that made thousands of strangers feel like they were the only one in the room.
Off stage, the weight of that persona was a physical thing, pressing down on her shoulders.
Brianna, the car is ready,a voice cut through the haze. It was Mark, her manager, a man whose smile was as polished as his shoes.
We have a meet-and-greet in twenty minutes with some radio executives from Chicago. Very important. They’re thinking of adding ‘Lunar Tide’ to their heavy rotation.Brianna opened her eyes, the vibrant green irises sharp and focused. She pushed off from the wall, her movements fluid.
No.Mark blinked, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second.
No?
I’m tired,she stated, her voice flat. It wasn't a complaint, it was a declaration of fact.
I’ve done two shows in three nights, I’ve given more interviews than I’ve had hot meals, and I am not about to sit in another room and smile while some middle-aged men with overpriced watches tell me how much they love my ‘sound’ while their eyes wander.Her gaze was unwavering, a stark contrast to the ethereal, whimsical girl she portrayed on stage. The mask she wore for the public was a beautiful, porcelain creation. This backstage, post-show version of her was the unglazed clay beneath—still beautiful, but raw, imperfect, and prone to cracking under pressure.