Louis:
Your sweet, sultry voice, filling the cavity in my mind.
As if you manufactured it that way.
Siglaine:
What way?
Louis:
The way you would wound up here, begging,
For my attention.
For my devotion.
For all that small piece of trust I had left.
Siglaine:
I do.
I am.
But...it's not that simple.
Louis:
What else there to think about?
I've smiled for you.
I've shed tears for you.
I've killed for you. No one else can say that, but I can.
Siglaine:
This tied up, monogamous, chaining my freedom.
Louis:
I have given you that.
Siglaine:
What, that small, conspicuous box of space you called freedom?
It's not enough!
It's not the same.
Louis:
Well then, tell me.
Show me,
How much how deep, how big, how extravagant
your freedom?
Feed me the knowledge, so that I could comprehend it.
For the sake of our...Whatever this is.
Siglaine:
We're just too different now.
We are like two puzzle pieces that doesn't fit.
Louis:
That's not what you said!
You told me time will never envy us.
What I am, or I was, will forever be sufficient.
Siglaine:
Maybe. But it was a lifetime ago.
Freedom comes with cost.
I just think that maybe what you have now is no longer relevant.
Louis:
Fine.
If that is what you wish.
YOU ARE READING
MASCARADA
General FictionThis is the dialogue that happened in my head. Some are truth, most are aberrations, and nothing was an exaggeration. MASCARADA is the epitome of my theater that never got a chance to come to light. So please, enjoy.
