She inhales. She steps into the light. This blinding world envelopes her. She has taken possession of the stage. She lifts a purple Surfcaster into her arms, and slips the strap over her head. She stares out into the audience. She has never had such an insane notion before. She may choose to follow it. She knows she shouldn’t. That would be pure insanity. No one else would do that. She’s nuts. She might be the Ax Queen, but even she has not right to expect that music, the music that only some supernatural presence could create, to come to her in the moment.
But she is Daisy Meeks. She is a little insane. She knows it as she dismisses the rest of the band and takes over by herself.
She plays a story, not a song. She sings an ache, not lyrics. She reveals herself for thousands of strangers in a way which she never could for him. Not even Kane.
And then, she is done. She is finished. And she looks around. The lights pierce the theatre, expanding the darkness around her into a fine point of empty light.
She is Daisy Meeks: Ax Queen.