Elienor looked down out the window from her perch in the Lighting Room. Some famous, along with some not-so-famous - but still excellent - bands would perform tonight, and many people were present.
Scanning the murmuring spectators, Elienor was startled to recognise one - twenty-year-old Christof, her host brother while she was an exchange student in Germany. She gazed a while at the lightly bearded face, then turned her attention to the Lights Panel and her mentor.

Elienor's earphones crackled with queries and affirmatives from personnel. Lights faded. A spotlight revealed the host. The show commenced. Coloured lights flooded the stage, garishly highlighting the performers' costumes.
They were cheered offstage a few minutes later; the next groups sauntered, ran, danced onstage for their turn under the artificial suns.

The chilly evening wind swept over the harbour, playing with her hair as Elienor wandered outside. She heard hinges; company. Heard youthful voices as they approached. Her mind sluggishly translating the quick syllables from an almost forgotten language.
Orange flames illuminated pale faces as some lit cigarettes, exhaled plumes of grey smoke. Conversation lapsed.
Elienor tapped Christof's broad shoulder. Mentally sighed at the lack of recognition.
„Christof! Es ist ich, Elienor! Wie geht's? Was machst du hier?“
Christof blinked with amazement. "Elienor! I'm okay." The others resumed private discussions. “I'm here with the band,” he continued. Gestured. “Playing Lead Guitar. And you?”
“I'm learning the lights.” She stopped, thinking. „Wie ist dein Freundin?“
“My girlfriend was fine when I left.” He winked. “Your boyfriend?”
Elienor winced.
“You separated...?”
She nodded miserably. Christof pitied her, knowing she'd loved him passionately. Hesitantly, he placed his large hand on her shoulder. “Don't grieve too long.” Paused. “Want to go back in?”
“Okay.”
They chatted, updating their chronicles.
„Erzähl, bitte, wie sind deine Schwestern?“
“My sisters? Verena attends Freiburg Universität; Susanne's in secondary school - the Landau Gymnasium. They're healthy. Du?”
“My family's okay. Lighting is a fun job.”

Time fled... they parted ...last band.

Elienor's earphones crackled.
“Ready.”
Fog hissed onstage.
“To conclude tonight's show, the German band, Geistspiegel!”

On the hazy, blue-purple stage, Christof strummed his mysterious opening chords. Elienor shone blurry cyan on the singer, waited, then ignited additional lights. The band materialised and joined in, building in volume and eventually turning the song into the beautiful, noisy mess Elienor knew Christof enjoyed. She danced multicoloured lights over them, grinning at chaotic disharmonies. Eventually, the luminescent dancers faded, the eerie coda returned, thicker fog reappeared.
The last note quivered into mist, spiriting away the Geistspeigel, leaving a blue-purple echo.

Elienor ran outside, hoping to see Christof before leaving. But others were quicker.
Finally, Christof strode over. “Fantastic lights.”
“Nice name... Ghost-Mirror?”
“Correct.”
They locked eyes - reluctance, hidden in vain.
‘We'll probably never meet again,’ said his eyes.
Elienor hugged him, disagreeing. ‚Villeicht nicht. That song will go far. Good luck; stay alive.’
Christof's smile answered sadly, ‘I'll try. Hope so.’
„Vielen Dank.“

... Elienor heard those ghostly chords on the radio several days later.
‚Bitte, mein Freund,’ she mouthed. ‘You're welcome, my friend.’