Crown of Fame: Sholto's Script

Act III: True Art

Narrator: Life is mostly a story told by idiots, full of noise and emotional disturbance but devoid of meaning. Read this in the morning: Has the sun risen, or have you just woke? In an attempt to make sense of this, one must see for oneself. Yet it always seems that the last question asked is never the first answer returned.

If there were a spectacle unlike aught else, it would remind us as such. On display for all to see, the sun bows over the horizon. Such deceit flows into the self-proclaimed crucible of truth. An act has already begun...

Aristocrat 1: "Heavens to Betsy! What on earth is that tramp doing?"

Aristocracy: "Hrmmmm?"

Narrator: In the theatre's foyer, patrons begin to gather around some commotion. There was a blonde woman prostrated on the floor beneath their feet. Another with her back turned as she seemingly tried to make an exit...

Aristocrat 2: "A live performance?"

Aristocrat 1: "To demonstrate such a coarse act is surely unworthy of our fair lady's response."

Aristocrat 2: "Our fair lady..?"

"That onyx attire, it must be, Lady Evelyn!"

"O joyous days, everyone, come gather around its our Lady Evelyn!!!"

Narrator: On cue, by an act of submission, Ceraphina sought to rectify the past. As instructed, she confronted yesterday's outburst with another. Although, now bereft of tongue, this method demanded effortless delivery. In simple plausibility, the utmost expression could be found. Indeed, quite fitting for the transparent soul. However, led to such application by darkness—it was an unfamiliar rush. Raised overhead, she presented a manuscript.

Aristocrat 3: "Look, she's returning to us!"

Narrator: As if scripted, the crowd coiled. Now, an impromptu stage beckoned forth its actress. The foyer lighting came to dim save for but one key light. As the face behind the mask, if there were a stage, she must answer its call. To maintain such fame was to fit this image; hence, the amicable front returned. Anything less than prudent acumen yields a risk Evelyn does not dare take. Waving with smiles, she walked with grace. Until, at last, under the spotlight, Evelyn was in place.

Evelyn: Why must you make a scene out of every little thing... (*sigh*)

"Oh my dearest understudy, pray tell, what urgent matter requires such theatrics?

Narrator: The inert Ceraphina does not move. Steadfast in such a striking pose, she demonstrated complete control over her body. Yet, such a particular accentuation of posture irked Evelyn. To the audience, not privy to this, Ceraphina suggested that Evelyn take her lead for once.

Evelyn: The nerve!

"Do not tarry now, I implore thee to stand and give voice to thy thoughts."

Narrator: Instead, Ceraphina thrust the manuscript higher. Evelyn leered at the uncharacteristic tenacity or perhaps better described as mutiny. However, briefly glancing at the crowd forced her to take action. The sooner she obliged, the sooner she could take things backstage; thus, Evelyn entertained such absurdity. Certain to be a written farce, she read aloud its title,

Evelyn: "Crown O Fame"

Narrator: Reaching forth, a tickle upon those fingertips. Seemingly, they clipped into the contents like a match. However, startled, Evelyn immediately reeled back in response. How very frightening... The audience was perplexed yet unperturbed for it seemed like part of the act. Lo and behold, the manuscript was still in hand.