[Music cue: A mournful gittern begins a slow and deliberate melody.] [The house lights dim. The stage is set.]
The moon promises
this sickly grace,
a blight of flowing lace.
She casts the lead
in Her grand play,
without audition.

[Enter Stage Right, an artist in green]
A scent of prophecy,
the chilling call,
draws the Gods
like buzzards.
A slow, gathering hunger
for fresh kill.

[The stage lights rise on the galleries, revealing rows of silent, watching faces.]
A lie to be performed
or a duet
of sabotage
where love unspools
into a knot of dying light.
The finale of all wonder.

[A harsh spotlight narrows, fixing on the artist.] [A whisper in the wings: "The bard awaits her cue."]
Her vows
drowned in Their laughter.
Her mouth
stained crimson with Empire.
Her reaching hand
finds blade set to shield.

[Enter Stage Left, a warrior in red]
Does she know
the world might tilt?
A slow, awful shift,
a tremor in the glass,
before shattering.
The heavens crash at last.

[Music cue: The music swells, then abruptly cuts to silence.] [Sound cue: a grinding, metallic groan from above. The backdrop of the night sky shudders, a seam splitting open. Ropes snap. The set collapses into a heap of wood and canvas.]
Expecting a sacrifice.
Awaiting a single tear.
Instead two brides.
One kiss.
The end of all that was.

[Exit, two joined as one in white.]
Eros yawns

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Scarlatan, in the year 982 AF.

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