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It is not the loneliness that Sua hates, not exactly.
She is used to her guardian's - her mother's - absences, the way in which she disappears for days or weeks on end for the sake of celebrity, or a new investment. Sometimes she returns with a new sister for the other girls to coo over. Sometimes she showers them with gifts; sweets, clothes, silly little accessories that snap within a week.
Sua is not used to loneliness, though she is Nigeh's darling and is often brought along on outings. When she is not with Nigeh she is ignored by her sisters, left in her room like a toy long discarded. Hia is gone, most of the time, and if she is not absent then she is quiet, almost distant, lost in some secret, angry thought that Sua does not understand. Will never understand, because to Hia she is still the baby. Stupid little Sua, still so terrified of the thought that someday, in some faraway future, she will go 'pop' and die.
Perhaps it is the fame that she is scared of, the creeping celebrity that has been trailing her this last year. She does not like it, because it is very hard to like something you did not choose, but it is a vast improvement upon her sisters' fetid company.
Once, when Nigeh took her to a party, she was accosted by a segyein insistent on asking her increasingly ridiculous questions. Her mother, thoroughly enjoying the chance to mingle with the upper echelons of alien society, had shooed her away without a second glance.
Sua had no particular inspirations, nor any real desire to dip her toes into the entertainment industry, but she nodded and smiled and pretended all the same. The segyein's attention drifted, latched onto another pet-human amongst the throng, clinging to their guardian's robes, and that was when Sua noticed the boy.
He was about her age, if not a little older and smaller, with a head of blonde curls and the most striking eyes Sua had ever had the fortune of meeting. They were as bright and golden as his hair, as stage lights, as stars.
Sua was cast aside in an instant as the segyein began chattering excitedly, clicking and chirping. The boy blinked rapidly, as if startled by the barrage of queries, but answered in crisp, clear segyeinko unlike anything she had ever heard. She watched his knuckles wrap tighter around that rich purple fabric, heard his guardian say something sharp, and met his eyes for only a moment before she was whisked away by a harried and rather angry Nigeh.
She did not forget that boy, neither his lovely features nor the amber light at his throat, and only learnt his name when he appeared on television for the first time. It didn't matter, not really.
He's as trapped as she is, her fellow butterfly in a glass cage. She doesn't care about him any more than that, not as a fan, certainly not as an equal. She keeps an eye on his work because he's popular, and everything about him is public knowledge.
Hia tells her to stop worrying about a stranger.
Sua does very little the year she is entered into Anakt Garden. She goes because she is the smallest and the prettiest and the most marketable, and will only serve to become more useful as she grows.
She has her doubts, for she is also the slowest of her sisters, or so Hia says.
Still, she's done up in snowy-white, frills and lace and that little bonnet she so hates, and carted off to the Garden. Nigeh gives her no parting gifts, but she receives a warm embrace from Yeon, a quick hug from Hia, and the barest of nods from Ami.
It is Mio who almost breaks her, sweet little Mio with her striking white hair. She throws her arms around Sua's middle and says all sorts of lovely little-girly things that Sua, only slightly older, can't resist smiling at.
When she is taken from her sisters, Sua does not cry. She is going to a better place, far beyond the furthest reaches of their enclosure.
When Nigeh leaves, turning her back on her favourite pet, Sua feels nothing at all.
She sits in a cold glass box, swimming in darkness. They've not given her her new clothes yet, nor a collar, but surely she is being monitored. She fiddles with the delicate lace of her skirts, remembers the wrath doing so brings, and begins fidgeting instead, crossing one foot over the other. She's barefoot like always, the surface beneath her slippery. Hia hates the way she can't quite stay still, forever tripping over herself, but she isn't here now. It's not a problem.
Sua stares out into the starry depths and tries not to think of home.
The girl in the box beside her is still crying. She started the moment her guardian - pink-frilled and gentle - left her and is yet to stop entirely, though her sobs have dwindled to sniffling hiccups.
The sound annoys Sua until she grows used to it, and then she feels a shred of pity.
She turns, meaning to silently reassure her, for the art of dramatic expression is a language of its own amongst Nigeh's girls, but forgets her plans in an instant.
The girl is crouched low with her face pressed against the glass, green eyes wide and curious. Her hair, bright pink and unlike anything Sua has ever seen, floats about her, and from the folds of her blanket emerge tendrils of rose-petal light.
She does not belong in Sua's world of black-and-white.
There is a dull whirring, a series of clicks, from the depths of space that surrounds them, and suddenly, far too suddenly, Sua is being pulled away from her, sliding along invisible tracks in the complete opposite direction.
The girl freezes with her hands outstretched, and runs to one end of her cell to reach for Sua. She is in tears again, pounding helplessly on the glass. When her fist stills she unclenches it, and as they pass she moves it from side to side as if saying goodbye. Waving. It's such a silly, human gesture, but Sua's heart stutters against her bodice.
She waves back, a little clumsily, because that is what humans do.
Sua sits alone in the Garden, pulling absently at clumps of artificial grass.
The other children are all so noisy, clamouring to be with their newfound friends, clambering over one another in their haste to join new games. Sua has no-one.
She was bound to have no-one, in the absence of her sisters. Sua is a quiet, bitter, selfish person and not very clever at all.
The counting game was dull fare even so. She knows her numbers, learnt them from a sister who learnt them from Nigeh, and whilst it is a struggle to twist her tongue around the jagged syllables of conversational segyeinko the basics come easily.
She sits, slumped against a tree (she's not quite used to the sight of so much colour, it was so grey and gloomy at home), until she hears a distant gasp, the pounding of feet, and someone is knelt before her, finger dangerously close to the tip of her nose.
"I know you!" her assailant says gaily, "You're that snowflake doll!"
Sua is neither a doll nor made of snowflakes, but she blinks and smiles. She does not know her voice, and yet those green eyes, sparkling behind rounded glasses, would have stood out anywhere. They certainly would have stood out in the silent darkness of space, a sky dotted with stars.
A small hand reaching for her own through layers of glass.
"It is you, isn't it?" the girl continues, "I'm Mizi! I've been thinking about you the whole time, you know, because you're the first human I've seen in forever and you're super adorable. Can we be friends?"
Sua has not heard anyone say so much in one go, least of all without pausing for breath. She nods, uncertain.
"What's your name?" Mizi presses, giggling.
"Sua." Hers is a simple, fragile name. It doesn't suit her.
"That's pretty! Here, take my hand and I'll take yours. I want to do that game again."
Sua takes Mizi's small hand in her smaller, paler one. She's startingly warm.
Sua should have expected this - every human is warm, they're hot-blooded creatures - but it is so cold in her enclosure and her sisters all wear flimsy white contraptions and she has never really felt warmth at all. She squeezes Mizi's hand and Mizi squeezes back.
They do not actually play the game at all.
When their class is herded into an empty room, the tables and chairs shoved to one side and a long panel of teachers awaiting their arrival, Sua knows they're already searching for Alien Stage candidates.
She is put at the far end of the line, Mizi at the other, and they are asked to sing.
Mizi picks a slow, simple melody, a lullaby about rabbits that even Sua, from a family of sisters and no provider to speak of, recognises.
The other children fumble their way through similar tunes, tripping over words and choking on their anxiety. They don't hold a candle to Mizi, whose voice is a rhapsody, high and clear.
In no time at all they are turning towards her, gesturing for her to begin.
Sua does something daring then. She makes up her own tune.
It is nothing but harmonising, really, a collection of notes she cobbled together whilst she was waiting. She thought it would be disjointed, but it comes out rather well, a sweet, conjunct melody that steals the judges' breath.
When Sua finishes she glances towards Mizi, who is watching, rapt, and looks as though she has never seen someone so beautiful. She giggles and sticks her tongue out, and only then does Mizi come back to herself.
Mizi begins to think more of Sua after that. She hardly leaves her side. She still insists that Sua is adorable and Sua still thinks that Mizi is a little too bubbly and bright, but they stumble through school well enough. Sua surpasses Mizi in every area except dancing and gets lumped in with Ivan, who acts like a brother and is constantly interfering.
Sua retreats to the safety of Mizi's room more often than not. For her troubles, Mizi gives her her first-ever birthday present, neatly wrapped in silver paper. She has received gifts before, but none so precious, so cherished.
She returns home for a time, the hurt of being away from Mizi difficult to bear, and despite Hia's teasing refuses to open the box.
Curling up beside her sister, she falls asleep with it still clutched to her chest.
"I'm sure I did something wrong," Mizi says, half her face purpled with bruises, "He's not a bad person."
Sua thinks that Alan is very much a bad person. She does not say this out loud.
She has not seen Mizi for seven days. Between travelling to her childhood home, spending time with her sisters and being hounded by her mother, she has not had time to relax all week. They'd fought in the days leading up to the trip, the stress of Sua's workload and Mizi's feelings of abandonment bringing them both to breaking point, but when Mizi prised open the door to Sua's beloved star-room and found her lying there in a doze, she'd curled up beside her as though nothing had happened.
Of course, something had happened. Mizi now sports an ugly handprint across her cheek and, two hours later, still seems jittery.
She buries her face in the crook of her elbow and tells Sua how happy she is to be back with her, how wonderful it is for them to be together again. Mizi and Sua. Sua and Mizi. They're bound, be it by love or pity or desire, and will let the universe die before allowing anyone to tear them apart.
At least that's what Sua thinks, watching blue-and-white holograms burst and scatter before her eyes. Mizi's positivity is most often endearing, and yet today everything about it is wrong. Her smile wavers, her words dissolve. Sua meets her eyes and she flinches just slightly.
"I don't know," Sua mutters after much deliberation, "I'm not sure if I can say the same."
It's not that she hates Mizi for her optimism and her lack of work and her lovely, ethereal mama. She's tired, frustrated, at her wits' end, and Mizi is still trying to push her anxieties aside for her sake.
Sua's mother had kept her working for hours at a time, dragging her from shoot to shoot as if she was still that porcelain doll-girl, mute and uncomplaining.
Sua hated every minute of it. She doesn't care about her rank of 'celebrity', doesn't care how soon the contest is by alien standards (humans are such a short-lived species, because several years isn't any time at all!), and certainly does not care for modelling. Only the thought of Mizi - sweet, beautiful Mizi - kept her going. Nothing brought her greater joy than imagining the lopsided grin on her face the day Sua returned to the Garden.
Lying beside her, Sua feels none of it. She feels like a performing animal, and Mizi has no idea how hard things truly are. It's a selfish, bitter thought, but humans are selfish creatures.
"At least you don't get dragged around like me," Sua adds, her voice hollow, "Must be nice, right?"
It is the wrong thing to say.
When the other girl's palm connects with her cheek Sua scarcely reacts. Just brings a hand up to the blooming red mark and watches the tears welling in Mizi's eyes.
"S-Sorry," Mizi stammers, over and over until Sua embraces her.
"It's fine," Sua tells her as she pulls her close, Mizi's tears damp against the collar of her shirt.
It has to be fine. Losing Mizi will surely be a pain like no other. She cannot bear to let her go over such silly things.
Distant as it seems, by the time their bruises are more or less healed, they are made to throw themselves into the preparations for Season Fifty.
All of Anakt Garden is abuzz with excitement, passing candidates trailed those who failed the assessment, full of pointless offers to help, teachers chirping about their excellent performances as of late, that sort of thing.
Ivan spends more and more time idling, humming half-hearted tunes that, for some reason, involve no end of ways to annoy Sua. He drums his fingers on the desk, murmurs lyrics, asks for advice over the slightest things. Mizi and Till fare better - Till is never seen without his guitar or sketchpad, often miming chords and muttering to himself.
Mizi attaches herself to Sua's hip when classes end for the day, and eventually they set about writing their opening number.
This will be their only chance at a duet. It has to be perfect.
(The idea of tying does not come to Mizi until later, by which time Sua spends most of her spare time in the star-room, watching and rewatching the tapes. Sua highlights an extra line of the pre-chorus in sparkly pink pen and Mizi smiles slightly, pretending not to notice.)
They are asked to write their songs in both segyeinko and the human language. Segyeinko does not come easy to them - to any of them - for the language was cobbled together from several alien dialects and not one of them shared vowel patterns or common phrasing. It was also developed for several species far beyond human speech; every pet-human in existence has struggled to bend their tongue around the harsh syllables. They all have the same stilted accents, too.
Sua wishes helplessly for advice, receives none, and does the best she can. The human celebrities seem to speak it flawlessly, but Sua would not be able to string that many sentences together unless she was given a week and a series of written references.
They stumble through the song either way, giggling at every mistake they make.
The instrumental is piano and violin, slow and gentle, rising in a crescendo as the victor is decided.
As far as last words go, it is a work of art.
Sua meets Luka, actually meets Luka, during the Season Fifty preliminaries.
She'd expected as much - new contestants crammed into one section of the arena complex, previous victor lording over them from the legacy wing - but for all his fame and fortune, he seems remarkably subdued.
They pass one another as she traipses out of the studio, having finished recording her cover of Sweet Dream for the archives' sake. It's a nice enough piece, and something of a fan favourite, initially written for the first ever season of Alien Stage. Even Luka sang it, back when he was a rising star.
When their eyes meet, Luka stills mid-stride. He's unchaperoned but not unmonitored, and maintains the wide-eyed innocence of his childhood. He's thinner than he was last season, somehow, his hair shorter, but he looks worn down, more than a little tired.
His participation in Season Fifty has been meticulously planned as part of his latest comeback, or so the gossips tell it. Unusual for a show of such popularity and scale, the season was pushed ahead by a couple of years, in part because of the lukakiyaro. He'd already suffered through health issues post-season, and, after an uptick in criminal activity and the disappearance of rebel memorabilia, apparently made the decision to withdraw for a while. Ravenous as they are, his fans did not enjoy seeing their darling prince so visibly ill. They allowed him his hiatus.
Presently Luka is here to record a solo take of Adekanyo, his final song from last season, or so he says off-handedly as Sua dithers helplessly.
Do you remember me? she thinks, but what leaves her mouth is, "I don't like that song very much."
Luka blinks as though he has forgotten she was there. "I don't like most of them myself."
He says this with no particular feeling, and for some reason Sua smiles. "What do you like, then?"
Luka considers, gazing out at the expanse of city stretching out beneath the complex. "This season's songs."
Is that it? "Oh."
Luka's golden eyes narrow, like he knows she wants to say more. "I only really know the songs I learnt as a child, and the ones they write for me. I had some input on them this season, that's all."
Sua nods. She must have heard the same lullabies countless times in the Garden, and fast grew sick of them. Having teachers gushing about their former star pupil had not helped. "I know that. They said no one ever learnt them as quickly as you."
Luka says nothing, expression impassive. His brows furrow slightly, as if he is trying to place her features. Sua meets his curious stare, and they remain in lockstep for several moments longer.
Even here, Sua notes, eyeing the elegant planes of his torso through his loose clothes, the ugly, puckered scar above his hip, they have him dressed for show. She's never seen him in anything but white, lilac, and shades of soft blue. His outfits are always loose, flowing, and yet she can piece a portrait of his body together from glimpses alone.
Sua hates fame and Luka looks as though he hates stardom. Their butterflies have continued to blossom, and now beat their wings in futility.
Luka holds her gaze for a while longer, and yet departs without a word. His eyes linger when they next see one another, and he commandeers the dressing room to rather firmly inform her that she looks better in white.
Mizi could have told me that, she thinks, then catches herself. Does Luka not also look best in white, rare as it is for him to don any other colour? Do they not compliment each other, white on black, gold on purple?
Would they, if Sua did not have to die, have worked together? Been friends, if the world was kinder?
You're not good enough, his eyes seem to say, but surely, surely, Luka can understand what it is to love a living soul more than yourself?
Except Sua does have to die, and it will be Mizi who faces him.
In that regard, she supposes dying for Luka is as improbable as surviving her first round.
Mizi has to beat him, and for Mizi to beat him Sua has to die. That is simply how it must be.
The remainder of their time at the arena passes without incident. The preliminaries are a success, and Sua is penned as a tentative favourite. Mizi, Till and Ivan are all ranked similarly, and Luka clings to the top spot as he has done all season.
Sua begins to spend more and more time alone. It is not quite the star-room, with its tantalising holograms and rows upon rows of video recordings, but it is quiet, and peaceful, and allows her to ruminate on her approaching demise.
Mizi would liken her to a god, Sua thinks. This she knows beyond all doubt, because no one else can coax a smile out of her after a fight, no one else can forgive her sins of bright-eyed curiosity and pointless optimism.
Even so, Sua does not quite believe it herself.
Mizi, bright, beautiful Mizi with her verdant eyes and flower-pink hair, cannot possibly benefit from worshipping her.
She is her idol - no, more than that. She is the centre of Sua's candy-striped universe, pink and white and pink and green and sometimes, sometimes, a glimpse of black and purple. She is the star that Sua encircles.
Sua knows little of stars, in actual fact. They are the dazzling half-dead things suspended between planets, and many have winked out since the first segyeinri settled on Earth. The human books paint them as glorious things, back when they sent their puny ships out into the dark, of all manner of size and shimmering colour.
The death of a star is grand and glittering. Rainbow matter is pulled apart and reshaped, and star-dust settles only to take on new form.
Sua decides, lying awake one night, that her death ought to be beautiful. She can steal Mizi's stardom for a short while - two, three minutes at most - and watch her cosmic collapse as it is projected on live TV.
Stinging pain. Puking her lifeblood onto the stage, if they hit her right. That is what she must endure, because she cannot let her love die. Mizi can outlast the guilt. Sua would rather take a bullet to the neck.
Mizi and Sua argue minutes before they are due onstage.
Mizi knows she plans to die, knows she has been rehearsing this from the start, but what if they still try?
Sua shakes her head. There's no point trying when the audience is out for blood, their blood, and they are desperate. They have been waiting to see this tragedy play out for a long time.
Mizi's words slip away from her then. She reaches for Sua's white-gloved hand (always white, why is it always white?) and kisses it softly, sweetly, such despair in her emerald eyes.
Sua smiles, tears pricking her own. They step onto the stage amidst raucous applause. They are surrounded by starbursts of rose-pink light, the colour of Mizi's hair, of true love, and ascend up, up, up as the music swells.
Oh ki miziki,
Ori mizike o tia,
Oh ki miziki,
Ki ke okorete…
It is everything. It is not enough. Mizi sings and her eyes are shining. Sua sings and the grief weighs heavy on her bare shoulders.
The scores roll in.
Eighty-six.
Eighty-seven. Almost perfect, but not quite.
There is a collective intake of breath as the scores are read and processed. Sua hears nothing above the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
A sheer white dress, a bow, pearl earrings and a white headband. It's rather unusual funeral attire.
The loser drops to the floor, blood spurting from her neck.
Dying hurts. Everything so carefully planned, and yet she had not factored in such agony, not really.
Sua's fingers twitch. Towards Mizi, or maybe her muscles are spasming.
The stage is a blur of light and sound, pain and her poor eyesight making it impossible to discern details, and she cannot hear anything over the roar of blood in her ears.
Her dress is covered in a thin film of red. The ground beneath her is sticky with blood.
It's warm. Or is it that she is growing colder?
Sua does not think her death ought to be warm. If Mizi were able to move she would surely cradle her, and perhaps then hers would be a pleasant death, but Mizi kneels beside the blood and does nothing at all.
Sua's blood is smeared across her cheeks and chin, crusty on her lips, cloying on her tongue. She did not realise she would bleed so much. She did not realise Mizi was likely to taste it - will never stop tasting it, now.
Mizi finishes the song, words dissolving in her grief. Sua was afraid she might vomit and never finish the song at all, but she does and it is beautiful.
Sua stares up at her (her idol, her clematis, her universe) and her lips drag into a smile.
She does not have the energy to regret it.