Chapter Text
AZUL ASHENGROTTO, GILT WITHOUT GUILT.
SEPTEMBER ISSUE 2025. ONE YEAR AGO.
The following excerpt is an interview taken from Lottie Magazine:
You must be living under a rock if you haven’t heard of the name Azul Ashengrotto . At twenty years old, Ashengrotto is the biggest sensation taking Twisted Wonderland by a storm. A self-made musician, he joins industry veterans like Vil Schoenheit, Malleus Draconia, and Leona Kingscholar in a fierce battle for the throne of stardom. Here with us at Lottie Magazine, the young singer reminisces fondly about how growing up with the Sea Witch has shaped his artistry and drops juicy insight on his elusive past.
…
INTERVIEWER: There are many speculations about your start in the music industry. Is it true that, before your claim to fame, you were an underground idol?
AZUL: Yes. I didn’t have the luxury of a talent agency nor influential connections when I got started in music. I funded my own training and swore to a rigorous regimen to be where I’m at today. In fact, I even scheduled my own gigs at local live houses.
INTERVIEWER: Underground idols are often viewed with negative bias. Could you tell us more about your experience?
AZUL: I cherish my time as an underground idol dearly. My debut stage was a unique and unforgettable experience. After all, it was during the month of my debut, three years ago, where I met someone and came across a realization…
(The interview continues, praising Azul for his unconventional success.)
…
chain my heart.
…
CASPIAN RECORDS, THREE YEARS AGO.
Flashing lights. Deafening wails. An earth-shattering bass.
The livehouse venue isn’t anything special– They’re in the basement of some record shop, jammed together shoulder-to-shoulder, but the audience doesn’t care. The rhythm is all-consuming, swallowing the masses whole until they become one with the stage that trembles by the beat. The atmosphere of the livehouse is intoxicating, a showcase of passion by hearts entwined through the love of music. A euphonious voice melts into the outro, a prolonged note that carries into a chilling silence. The audience is held in tight suspense— Then, someone shrieks. Another follows, then someone else, until the crowd is taken by a hollering storm.
“Precipice Moirai, everyone!” The emcee announces, triggering another wave of cries. “Let’s give them one final cheer!” Dog whistles pierce through the air and everyone begins to applaud…
Except for Floyd Leech and his brother, Jade.
Floyd is a jarring oddity from the crowd. He stands with stiff indifference, lips unmoving since the first melodic note. Jade fares no better than him, except for the fact that he makes an effort to politely smile. The girls on stage— Precipitation and Moisty Eyes, or whatever— are rambling on about the overwhelming support from their fans, and Floyd practically feels his eyes rolling back.
Why’d they even bother coming here?
Floyd can’t recall the events that led him to this moment– Rather, he doesn’t even bother trying to recall them, because he knows that whatever conversation that led them here had to be just as lame and uninspired as Precipitation and Moisty Eyes on stage. He does vaguely remember Jade lecturing him about ‘family business’ and ‘learning to live on land’ and how he ran outta cool music to listen to, so he took Jade along to visit some record store under the family’s protection. He doesn’t remember the record shop having much of a selection, which is probably why they’re at this stupid concert because Jade spotted the poster and thought it’d be a great opportunity to ‘expand his horizons’, since there’s supposedly nothing to listen to on land. Now here they are stuck listening to Precipitation, Moisty Eyes, and whoever the third girl is on stage.
Floyd hopes that Jade’s enjoying his muggy girls and head-splintering EDM music. He knows that Jade isn’t, however, and this torture serves his brother right for dragging him into this sweltering hellscape. Floyd also knows that Jade isn’t gonna leave though, and that Jade would happily blow out his eardrums before admitting this was a mistake, and that Jade considers this a pleasant little detour in learning about cultures on land.
Floyd’s phone also died an hour ago, so Jade’s the only one who can call in a ride home.
Floyd knows that Jade’s aware of this and how much he hates being here, because Jade looks over in his direction and smirks . It pisses Floyd off so much that he wants to wipe that dumb shit-eating grin off his face, but the stage’s starting to blare stutter drums and he can’t take this anymore!
So, Floyd starts shoving his way out of the crowd. People at concerts are so sweaty and he finds it hard to wiggle out, because everyone’s packed like a bunch of sardines. They’re also trying to step over his new sneakers, so Floyd’s got half a mind to teach these small fry a lesson, but he’s also gotta take a leak.
When he successfully claws his way out to freedom, it’s already a few degrees cooler. His head’s clearer now that the thunderous bass has died down into a muffled hum. The ground still vibrates vaguely as he leaves the basement, as he takes an elevator to the lobby. The record shop’s empty, save for three security guards that cast him a glance. Floyd ignores them as he mumbles under his breath: Why’s he gotta take a different elevator to the restroom?
Floyd leans against the railings of the new elevator. He’s examining his sneakers with lukewarm interest. Someone scuffed the midsole. It doesn’t really bother him though; he wasn’t feeling this pair. The elevator dings and Floyd stands up, idly rolling his ankle as he waits for the door. A tuneless hum leaves his lips as he takes the first step out—
“What do you mean that the set’s been changed!? ”
—And a sudden screech causes Floyd to recoil. Just a distance away from the elevator, there’s a plucky boy with silvery hair. He’s dressed to the nines, all dolled up in a pleated chiffon blouse and high-waisted culotte pants. He’s wearing a coat with excess fabric that drapes from his waist like tendrils. He’d be a looker if his lips weren’t pulled back into a vicious snarl, blue eyes wild in frenzy. In front of the boy stands a suited man, unfazed by his outburst.
“We agreed for thirty minutes.” The extravagantly dressed boy proclaims, “This is my debut stage– I can’t afford for my set to be halved!”
“You weren’t even supposed to be here.” The suited man responds. He says something else, which causes the boy to incredulously scoff, but Floyd doesn’t bother deciphering it. Instead, he’s thinking: Why’re they fightin’ in front of the restroom!? He’s gotta take a leak– Really badly! His mood’s already down in the trenches just by having to take two elevators just to get here– He doesn’t need some small fry killing it further, especially considering the fact it’s already dead! The silvery-haired boy huffs; it looks like he’s about to go off on a tirade. Before that happens, Floyd interrupts.
“Eugh, just deal with it!” Floyd groans and the pair snap their attention towards him, flabbergasted. The boy asks if he’s been eavesdropping. Their bewilderment gives Floyd the opportunity to shove his way past. He ignores the inquiry as he marches down the hall, thinking: That’s what they get for blubbering up a storm.
Floyd’s quick to forget about his irritation. In a matter of minutes, he’s out of the bathroom and down at the record shop’s lobby. He’s standing in front of a vending machine, staring at the choices available. Floyd hears a sniffle. He doesn’t think much about it and gets a bottle of water. Jade’s probably still in the basement, still listening to those underground idols if he hasn’t shriveled up and died from the heat. Floyd gets another bottle for Jade, then hears another sniffle.
His gaze drifts to the left.
Hidden behind poorly placed plants, he finds silvery hair. Floyd leans over curiously and the sniffling becomes louder. He sees the same chiffon blouse from before. It’s the fancy boy from earlier, crying. The boy’s face is burrowed in his slender hands, his body trembling with each sob. It’s a drastic difference from when Floyd had seen him before, a domineering figure. It makes Floyd wonder, as he fishes in his pockets for some old handkerchief, if this was truly the same person as before.
“Eh, giving up already?” It’s an innocuous question, yet the boy freezes. Floyd dangles the handkerchief over the boy’s head, teasing flyaway hair with it. The handkerchief is made out of a thin, silk material. It isn’t pretty: it’s all crumpled up from being in Floyd’s pocket for an unknown amount of time, but there’s an elegant ‘JL’ monogrammed at the edge. “Don’tcha got a set comin’ up?”
The boy’s head suddenly snaps up, then back downwards. He yanks his sleeve up as if he meant to check the time, but there’s no watch. A silent curse leaves his lips. The boy furiously wipes his face with the back of his hand, then glares at Floyd through his tears. There’s no time to react before the boy suddenly springs back to his feet and snatches Floyd’s handkerchief.
“You didn’t see me,” the boy warns, all bravado despite his tears. “And I wasn’t crying– I lost my contacts. ” The response stupefies Floyd as much as it intrigues him; he watches as the boy nearly stumbles out of his spot. If he hadn’t been crying, then maybe he would have been a tad bit menacing with his threats.
“Okay~” Floyd chirps, unfazed. It’s not like he knows who the boy is anyway; so how would he even tattle? He watches as the boy hurries down the corridor, then disappears into the hallway. Floyd scratches his head, then turns back to the vending machine. He takes his two bottles of water. As he heads back to the basement elevator, he ponders if Jade died from dehydration.
The live concert is finally nearing its conclusion.
Nothing’s changed since Floyd had left and Jade certainly didn’t die. Spotting Jade amongst the crowd was easy; he’s at least a good six inches above the average guest. He protrudes out from the mass like seaweed and somehow acquired an electronic handheld fan. It’s troublesome work for Floyd to push his way back to where Jade stands, and watching the remaining acts doesn’t serve as a worthwhile pay-off. Floyd’s zoning out— He’s thinking about how he and Jade have to attend a meeting in two days, ‘cause they came on land to get familiar with their family’s expanding influence. They’re training ‘cause the business is expanding and someone’s gotta keep watch of their land operations. Floyd thought that being on land was pretty great, but now the responsibility’s coming closer, and he thinks he’s already seen all the good that could come out of being on the surface. Precipitation and Moisty Eyes from earlier definitely weren’t anything good from land, and neither are these other performers.
“Now, for one of our final acts!” The emcee’s voice tears through Floyd’s thoughts, “Full of hexes, spells, and a voice to sell— Introducing, SEULA!” There’s a chorus of cheers from the audience, until pitch black falls upon them. Curious murmurs hum through inquisitive guests, the stage unchanging. The notes of an accordion seep into Floyd’s ears. It’s a sensual sound, soon accompanied by the plucking of guitar strings and the soft hum of a double bass. A velvety voice trickles into the melody— FLASH!
A lone figure stands beneath the cold spotlight.
“Aha!” Floyd claps his hands together, giggling. “He came out!”
It’s the boy– Seula. His hair shimmers beneath the light, almost as radiant as the skin that glows beneath his sheer top. Floyd notices that the boy has hints of some chub on his body, a wonderful difference from the previous singers. His face still carries remnants of his previous outburst, eyes possessing hints of tears and lips vaguely puffed. Or perhaps that was the glitter beneath his bottom lashes emulating tears; he is singing a melancholic song. Floyd’s speechless as his gaze follows the boy. He’s a dazzling pearl amidst the dark sea, but it’s not his appearance that leaves Floyd gobsmacked.
It’s his voice.
Seula’s voice is a soothing sound, nearly hypnotic. His voice was warm and inviting; its dulcet notes ensnare Floyd like a sweet whisper. It’s a numbing intoxicant— and familiar. Floyd gazes at Seula, spellbound. On the stage, Seula smirks. Floyd watches as he sways with the rhythm and the flowing fabric ‘round his waist flutters like glistening tentacles—
It’s the Sea Witch, Floyd realizes. Seula is like the Sea Witch.
Seula’s voice is a gentle wave that carries him to the sea. He hears the music that his mother would play when he and Jade were younger, the sensuous yet passionate jazz numbers playing lazily throughout the manor. Seula’s voice is the comfort amidst tumultuous times, a welcoming embrace. Seula’s voice carries him through memories and Floyd feels as if he’s drowning. He’s sinking into the depths of an indescribable feeling; Floyd hears the voice of his younger self, singing along to the once legendary singer. Briefly, he feels a connection to Seula. He lets the boy’s voice guide him, lets his voice devour him as he submits himself to merciful temptation as the boy’s voice rises into a crescendo.
The music comes to an end.
It’s far too soon. Floyd’s back at the livehouse venue, in some basement of some record shop, and he just experienced the best moment of his life. He’s staring at Seula with wide eyes and he doesn’t hear the audience. He doesn’t know if they’re cheering, but Seula is smiling. There’s a cute beauty mark at the corner of his lips, Floyd realizes. He swallows thickly as he watches Seula bow. Then, the boy leaves. His gaze stays where the singer once was.
Floyd turns to Jade.
Jade’s staring at the stage. He’s speechless, too. Unmoving. Floyd notices the grip that Jade has on his handheld fan, the way that his knuckles have begun to blanche. A smirk flickers across Floyd’s lips. He laughs, breathlessly.
They wait until the live house begins to clear out. Some fans are lining up for a hi-touch and photos with their favorite singers, but the basement is otherwise empty. There’s no sight of Seula, though a handful of singers have already come down. Jade and Floyd make their way to the organizer’s booth.
“Good evening,” Jade greets the lone coordinator with a cordial grin. Floyd plops himself onto the booth, teeth bared in a grin. Sitting atop the edge, he twists and looms above the seated coordinator. She scoots her chair back abruptly as he leans down.
“Hi~” He coos, then knocks down a stack of fliers. The coordinator yelps, causing Floyd to cackle. “Oops!”
“Please excuse him.” Jade steps away from the papers fluttering down, “The concert has left him in an excitable state, I’m afraid.” Floyd cackles again, then grabs one of the remaining fliers on the table. There’s nothing interesting printed on it.
“We would like to inquire about one of your performers.” Jade neatly unfolds the event program from his pocket, then neatly places it upon the booth. “He goes by the name Seula, I believe.”
“Seula?” The coordinator repeats, confusion rippling across her features. She glances at the event program, then immediately lights up in recognition. “Oh, him–! He left.” A stiff silence settles between the parties, only cut prematurely by an awkward laugh from the coordinator. “However, there are many other artists still holding their meet-and-greets right now. If you’re interested, you can always go—”
RIIIIP!
Floyd tears apart the flier in his hands. He springs from the table, causing it to groan from the abrupt action. He rips the flier again, into fourths and then eighths.
“We don’t care about those small fry, we want Seula!” He exclaims, nearly a whine. A chill runs down the coordinator’s spine as she watches Floyd toss the flier’s shreds. “Where is he?!”
“Surely, there must be a way we can contact him or his agency, yes?” Jade interrupts, drawing the coordinator’s attention back towards him. She’s tense, scooting another inch away from Floyd.
“He’s an independent artist.” She says, then bows her head. “He was also a last-minute addition to our program. I’m sorry, but if you aren’t here for our current meet-and-greets, then I must ask that you take your leave…” The coordinator flinches as again as Floyd’s hands rest atop the booth. He only scoots it back into place.
“I see,” Jade hums. “We apologize for the inconvenience, then. Let us take our leave, Floyd.” Floyd moves away from the booth as Jade turns away.
“Make sure to hire better idols next time too, this stupid event was such a bore. ” Floyd grumbles before he follows Jade outside,
“So what’re you gonna do?” Floyd asks as he leans against a park railing. They’re outside and the wind is a pleasant chill against their skin. It feels much better than the two hours they spent at the record shop. Jade’s on his phone. He’s scrolling through the internet as they wait for their driver. “You’re still curious about him, aren’t you? Seula.”
“Yes,” Jade responds, eyes unmoving from the screen. Floyd can tell he’s latched onto something interesting, because all the colors from the screen aren’t dancing on his face anymore. He has an indescribable glint in his eyes. Floyd smiles because he knows what that look means, the insatiability in Jade’s expression. He’s chuckling because he knows something interesting is going to happen; things always get interesting when something manages to pique Jade’s interest.
“I’m going to find him,” Jade says and his tone is soft. His voice is delicate, but his words are a bold declaration. A promise. His teeth are sharpened, glistening beneath the moonlight. He’s chuckling as he continues to gaze down at his phone. He’s found something, Floyd realizes. “Seula.”