He's backstage, staring at himself in the dressing room mirror, studying his face. He looks worn, aged, the stage makeup not quite hiding the circles under his eyes or the newly-forming wrinkles. They've chalked his hair a riot of color again, but it can't fully hide the fact that he's going gray by degrees. Even his eyes look dimmer, more pale gray than the vivid blue they were. Like a monochrome image of himself.

Something is wrong, he knows. He wasn't like this just a few months ago. He needs rest, a break. Time to think and gather himself. He just needs a tiny break to think.

He'll talk to his director, he thinks. Ask to stop, just for a while. He massages his temples, tries to fight back the urge to just punch his director and leave - he's angrier now, too, seething. But he can get himself together, get himself thinking.

Just a few days.

Just a moment.

Just--

"On in five!" someone calls behind him - the director, and there's another surge of anger, barely pushed back. "Smiles on, Roy!"

And at the stage name, something stirs in Vincent, shifts.

He doesn't feel his mouth move, doesn't move at all, but the image in the mirror begins to grin.

When he steps out onto the stage a few minutes later, the lights catch on perfect rainbow hair and flawless skin and glittering, empty blue eyes, and Roy greets his audience with a bow.