Crown of Fame: Sholto's Script

Act II: The Most Thrilling Actress

Narrator: A newborn trevally, seeking even greater thrills, plunges headfirst into the whale's den. Riding fervent tides, he anticipated colossal crests with troughs unknown... Yet was met with frozen waters gone still. It seemed a small swirl yields naught but a momentary ripple. For the lulling crowd simmers, briefly boils, yet never stirs. Such is the theatre's plight. Now, jutting out like a riverbed rock, he stood head above water.

Aristocrat 1: "Ah!...om..."

Aristocrat 2: "muh..muh!.......mmmm.."

Aristocrat 3: "..Wo..uh......"

Narrator: Clovis surveyed the arena on his way. The audience appeared unnervingly fixed in position as if arranged within a living diorama. The leery man saw patrons resembling silent mannequins. They sat all too quietly. By tracing their gaze, undoubtedly, he settled on the stage. With shungite-hued curtains, an endless abyss—whose depths were unknown. The final cog, now brooding over his seat, looked to the manuscript for direction.

Narrator: Next page. It's instructions to be seated; of course, Clovis indulged.

As though plugged into a wintery outlet, his body grew tense. This gelid force collapsed upon any ambivalence to where his fingertips went numb. Threatened, Clovis instinctively rises. Yet, as if on cue, the lights began to dim, ushering forth a chilling atmosphere. To endure the winter or freeze where he stood. The choice was still his to make...

???: "A star emerges!"

Narrator: And a decision departs. Acting as floodgates, the curtains presumedly sundered. Like a whirlpool without escape, all currents resigned to its draw. It was no longer sink or swim, as to now sink and survive. Clovis was pressured to sit down as the show began. Now, at the mercy of these tides, once again, it was time to embrace a role in depths unknown.

Narrator: A solemn yet stately stride down the center line unveiled an actress. Affixed to the doll was an ebony dress with ornate lace embracing a woman's silhouette. Seemingly attached to invisible rails, a mechanical poise equipped. Emitting the faintest warmth, all in attendance, save for one, reached out. Like clockwork, she reached center stage with precision before executing a brief pause.

. .. ..

Soul of Shimérik: "Upon the stage, where constellations gleam, Shimérik's soul shall forever reign supreme. To become fame, once a tale of rapture, now, a question, to extend our stature... The theatre's essence, a star in her prime—

Narrator: Clovis, the patron, begins to flounder.

Soul of Shimérik: "Bravo! Bravo! This to the slime who sustains such paradigm! As planets divine, very soon, a sign... At last heralding my celestial climb! So rejoice, while I rest atop this man-made throne—Until greater glory, we share a void unknown."

Aristocracy: "Shi-mé-rik! ..... Shi-mé-rik! .... Shi-mé-rik! .... Shi-mé-rik!" 

(*clap*)....(*clap*).....(*clap*)

Narrator: Erupting as they did, this thunderous chant—a stranglehold... One name resounded throughout the auditorium, leaving little to no room for anything else...

Yet, basking in artificial limelight, with the audience's applause ostensibly as nutrients, a beautiful black rose blooms with ease. To appear as zoetic, it seemed her onyx-coiled curls whispered tales of clandestine allure. However, beneath those petals, a mask, a veil of intrigue... Oozing behind, two lucent embers, no doubt... they continue to wane.

Clovis: The greatest thrill, unwritten, might this be the one... (*hmmm*)

For now, this I cannot say. In a cavern with waters so still, are these rays truly so bright? Or is it the lack of... that creates such an illusion..?