Lights were getting dimmer and dimmer behind the curtains. A few props scattered around, forgotten maybe, or abandoned, made it seem like someone had started to arrange a scene then gave up. Spider webs were slightly covering dark corners, hiding dead insects fooled into submission. The random sound of a cricket was the only noise audible to the girl who was walking on the stage, amazed at the simplicity of the high, crumbling ceiling above her. She ran her fingers on the thick, almost crisp velvet of the chair with one missing limb. That was to be her beginning. She choked up just thinking about all the people who would come see her. She imagined the laughter at her jokes, and the tears at her dramatic monologue. She smiled suddenly and twirled, if only to admire her own dress. She put her palms together in front of her heart, interlocked her fingers in a silent prayer to an unknown deity, and began breathing deeper and slower. As hard as she tried, the butterflies in her stomach refused to leave. She didn’t have words for everything she was experiencing. All she knew as that the first night of her performance would be incredible, unforgettable, and penetrating to all who would witness it. All would fall in love, and crave her presence like a necessity, like something you need to survive. They would get drunk on the sound of her voice, they would adore the deceitful look in her eyes, they would worship her steps and her words. She looked towards the empty chairs and tried to imagine the scandal. She was smiling inside. She would be the talk of everyone forever. And she would enjoy every single minute of it like she had never enjoyed anything else. Not even her lovers. Not even her children, or her dreams. Not even the absinthe and the visions that came with it. Not even the moment when she had been proposed to in a grand ceremony. Not even the day she had met the man who was making all this possible for her. She didn’t care about any of that. She didn’t care that people loved her and were sacrificing their lives and fortunes for her. It wasn’t her fault they insisted on not letting go of the glimmer of hope that she was very good at maintaining, barely enough for them to not give up. She knew hope was good, but she was afraid too much hope would be a danger. She needed to keep them close, but far enough to discard them presently. She needed to do what she knew best: entertain, dominate, and submit to the will of her fans. Nothing else mattered. And this stage would prove it soon enough.