MARCH SADNESS - A Symphony of Sorrow

[pumpkinhollow]

SYMPHONY OF SORROW

If the Audience Would Please Take Their Seats

You find yourself at the theatre.

You may be asking how you got here, why you are here, when did you arrive. But none of that matters, does it? Nothing matters. Whether you are shocked at yourself for thinking so or whether you have known that nothing matters for years on end does not matter either. Whatever meaning there was to be had in any of this escapes you now. Who you were and what you wanted, what you valued and stood for, it all seems now like such a hazy dream. Out of reach.

There is a ticket in your hand. It tells you where to go. You follow it dutifully. Ticket stubs are exchanged for playbills. A schedule of performances. Whatever. You numbly proceed to where you belong. Performers and stage crew to their places, orchestra to the pit, workers to their positions. All with the knowledge that there can be only pain.

A four-armed conductor in moth-eaten robes raises his baton, and there is music.

You deserve this.

You deserve this.

You deserve this.

Observer’s Overture

First Movement in E Minor

adagio, con dolore
PP

Lights down on the chorus, who sits in the stands. They are playing the role of the audience. Ad lib spoken word between chorus members seated near one another. Soft music begins to swell eerily.

Lights up on the stage. A performance begins, apparently in media res, where the chorus is meant to observe.

vacillante, improvvisato
cresc. P

The performers on stage play out their acts, appearing fearful. The chorus ad libs quiet uncertainty from the stands. Some of them will look down at their playbill and find their own name on the schedule of acts to come. There is a brief description on the page of the act that is scheduled for them. It is clear by the state of the ones already on stage that this isn’t something they have a choice in.

Chorus members attempt to rise from their seats, but cannot. Not yet. Foreshadowing to a later movement. For now, they must endure the overture.

Opera Infernale

Second Movement in Various Keys
( A medley of vignettes, performed in various styles)

chorale concerto a tutti, con affetto

F

Various chorus members rise between songs and make their way to the green room, where they are costumed. They have some time to talk with other incoming acts. They will find themselves and their loved ones being prepared for their acts.

segue

Those who performed before stop in the green room again. They look drained. A fate which awaits the incoming acts.

segue

On the stage, each act is a musical recreation of trauma. A worst fear, a most painful moment, an act of cruelty, a time of hardship. The styles will vary accordingly. If the other players in a given tale are present, they will receive their role without question. If a cast member has no fellow performers from their own world present, an understudy will be chosen to play any other roles from those that they are close to. Everyone is off book. Vocal quality is adjusted to match the conductor’s standards. Staff ensures there are no interruptions. The show must go on.

CODA: Für Nimona
A Coda in A Minor

There is a stranger in the green room, unmoving. Pale glowing eyes peer out from an ungulate-shaped void perched atop a high end suit. Antlers leer overhead. He is waiting for someone. Staff take no notice of him.

Ensemble's Lament

Third Movement in G Minor

bocca chiusa
PPP

There are other places to be besides the stage. Other roles to play.

pesante

Behind the stage, the stage crew toil under Baritone, the stage manager and the Viscount of Suffering. There is a pipe organ built into the man’s chest, and the bell of a horn where his heart ought to be. It shows. He is as cruel as he is miserable. He runs a tight ship.

declamando, letando

There are others in the pit, if they have the musical skill for it. And while this part of the performance is managed by a kinder sort, the Contessa of False Comforts is not so named for no reason.

The opera is long. There are no intermissions. The orchestra plays until their lungs ache and their fingers bleed, while Sonata assures them that it will all be over soon. Surely she cannot be lying. Surely there must be an end…

freddo, pietoso

Just outside the auditorium, there is work for the chorus serving food and drinks, taking ticket stubs for the endless stream of audience members, cleaning messes, or all other manner of soulless work. Perhaps these ensemble members simply did not interest the Conductor. Or it could be that they were made more miserable elsewhere.

Reprise - Observer’s Overture

Fourth Movement in E Major

impetuoso
FF It would seem that once a chorus member’s concerto is complete, they are free to move about the premises. At least until they are scheduled in a supporting role for another soloist. This means a chance to explore--- or escape.

presto repente, bellicoso
cresc.

Those attempting to escape will be met with resistance, however. Guarding the doors are shades, creations of the Conductor who can wear the faces of those held dear by those that look upon them. Escape, more likely, will come from within.

Members of the chorus who attempt to do battle with the Conductor, however, will find themselves up against something far more dangerous. Figures of glass, in all different shapes. Some abstract and solid, some hollow and human-like, and everywhere in between. Perhaps some chorus members will find one to be familiar.

The Hero will need an ensemble of her own to make it through and strike at the Conductor. Perhaps a resistance can be formed in a hidden location near the green room.

Homeward Aria

Fifth and Final Movement in C Major

tiempo di fanfara, vittorioso
F

When a dagger of Aster is driven into the heart of Prince Efrain of Sorrow’s Song, at last, the illusion fades. The members of the chorus relinquish their roles and find themselves on the summit of Crane’s Ridge.

It will be an arduous journey home, but it can be done with the solace that there is one less Demon Prince to trouble Pumpkin Hollow. Music in a joyful major key swells, then decrescendos.

enfatico, mancando poco a poco

| CONTENT WARNINGS: altered states of consciousness, entrapment, grief, depression, mood control, loss of bodily autonomy |

Comments

[abhorrently]

"Did I wake you in the midst of a pleasant dream? It's alright to keep dreaming, my dear."

She should have torn Fenrir to ribbons those months ago, harvested his skull and made it into her own personal wine cup. She should have caused him so much more pain. This hideous twisting, she did not even know her role, so disconnected from the process while she only fumed at the insult of doing it at all.

I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

"I just wanted to see you again."

[redlightgreenlight]

I know.

Her voice sounds weary, as if she's given up by the time she's reached act three of her story.

"I only dream of you."

It had been a lie then, a dance between them as Fenrir tried to convince her to stay and her playing along to protect herself.

Valdis lifts the rose to her nose as if smelling it.

"You remembered my favorite."

[abhorrently]

"How could I forget?"

Coming to her, Fever goes to her knees, reaching for her hand.

"I came to talk, if you would allow it."

She has to stay. She has to. It's alright, isn't it? She won't fly from his grasp -

(And Fever inside hates this role, hates this burden so much she cannot speak.)

[redlightgreenlight]

"Of course, how silly of me. You've never forgotten."

Valdis lets Fever take her hand, trying as hard as she can to stay in the moment and not let go completely. She has to be present for her partner even if she would like nothing more than to let apathy take over completely.

"I'm listening."

[abhorrently]

"So you feel well enough for that. I'm glad...I was worried that you were still affected by your injuries."

The words are sweet, caring, but Valdis will know the rumbling discontent behind them. The agitation, the worry - when Fenrir worried that all his planning would fall apart, and sought to ensnare her again in his words, in his poisoned affection.

"Has there been anything strange you've noticed, in the aftermath? Or do I fret for nothing?"

[redlightgreenlight]

She doesn't sense enough of Fever in this moment, and that worries her enough for some of her apathy to fade.

"I'm tired."

These were very nearly the exact words they had spoken, him probing for a weakness, her dancing around the subject as she tried to figure out how she needed to act to soothe him.

"But I think the wound has healed."

The one left by her brother and his holy sword, the one that now sat unused in her bedroom.

[abhorrently]

"Then rest. Rest here, where you're safe - I promise that nothing will come and interrupt your recovery."

A smile, a drawing back and standing up. But it doesn't seem like anything's truly relieved. He's still nervous, agitated. Has to ensure she's still Valdis, that she's still what he made her.

(And Fever cannot stop the actions, and her rage is her own, as well as her sorrow. I'm so sorry.)

[redlightgreenlight]

Safe. Yes. He had said that, but really he was scared. Scared that all his planning had been ruined by the little thing called a soul that had painfully and traumatically been returned to her.

She reaches for his hand, no, Fever's hand. This is Fever, she can't get lost in the memories or they will drive her insane.

"Please stay, I feel safer when you are near."

If he was near then she could keep an eye on him, on his feelings, he couldn't hide from her, but she could hide from him.

[abhorrently]

It is the strings of Efrain's design that lead to her gently tugging - asking to pull Valdis up, to draw her close and ask her to dance. That's what this is, isn't it? A dance between lovers, an affirmation of their closeness. Surely this will be enough to assuage the unsettled thoughts and feelings.

(Not her feelings. Not her thoughts. They rest on her mind like a coat of wet paint, freshly applied, and Fever furiously tries to scrub them away.)

"Of course. I won't leave your side, my dear."

If he is near, then he can make sure that she's still Valdis. Still his Queen.

(And Fever wordlessly screams in her own mind, rejecting that thought with all the force in her.)

[redlightgreenlight]

Oh, so it shall be a dance then, a symbolic display of their deceptions, except instead of looking up into Fenrir's eyes, she's look into Fever's, who, though shorter, is no less intimidating to the right person.

Valdis is not that person. Fever is her partner, no matter what spell Efrain has her under, no matter what parts they play against each other, she and Fever chose each other. Fenrir had never offered choices.

Her instinct is to recoil at those words, just as it was hundreds of years ago when he had spoken them, but she rises at the tug, willingly going into "his" arms.

"At least for now, I know you are a busy man. I will recover soon enough."

[abhorrently]

"Don't push yourself." Well meaning on the surface, irritatingly patronizing underneath. As if Valdis didn't know her own capabilities. "You know I wouldn't mind if you lingered."

(In her mind, the apology is less words more than it is a deep ache of a feeling, sickened by the display, by what she's doing. At least Valdis is stronger than her, physically. At least they both know none of this is meant.)

It should have been a comforting grip, something gentle for a recovering soul. It is not - it's too abrupt, he's holding on too tight. Like he's expecting her to try and slip away at any moment.

[redlightgreenlight]

The Valdis who lived this had been far too frightened and confused to try anything that could be perceived as fighting back, but she had kept her wits and knew that he didn't know she could see the truth behind everything he did.

Still, she's relieved that it's Fever she's facing and not him, at least Fever cannot hurt her as he had, even if it's his words falling from her lips.

"Oh, but you do, my King. Don't worry, I'll be myself again soon enough."

Though she had never planned on it, even now she was plotting her escape from Cadair Idris. Not unlike she was plotting what she would do to Efrain upon the end of her scene.

[abhorrently]

"You will be, I'm sure."

He'll make sure of it. And the dance, that could have been slow and careful, gentle and sweet, is shifting. Growing more desperate, violent. Control, instead of being subtle, becoming overt. The motions sharper, stronger - it's shifting into a different style entirely.

Fenrir could not abide being told no. Couldn't stand that even for a moment, she wouldn't be his Queen. He'll make it happen as quickly as possible - smother out any flicker of it being otherwise. He has to. He has to. He will.

[redlightgreenlight]

Valdis moves with him, knowing she must soothe whatever fears he has for her own safety. There's no resistance in her as they step into the more intense style of dance, her movements reflecting that she is still his, all while her mind remains her own. There was no more fog then, except for the fog she feels now as she retreats away from this moment and into that one.

This time had ended with Fenrir being satisfied, her lie far more successful than she had hoped, and yet he had grown more and more frustrated with her over the next few weeks.

Yet this was not Fenrir, and this was not that moment.

It's ok, Fever.

She needed to remember that this was her chosen partner, not the monster who had caused her so much pain.

[abhorrently]

It doesn't feel okay. It feels like she wants to start tearing off this costume in front of everyone, that she'd rip it all down to her skin if it meant stopping this. Stopping other people from seeing this, from seeing Valdis like this. Let them know at least that she is playing a game, that she mastered Fenrir, let them remember that she won against him, and that this is only the past.

The strings, the script, they work in tandem so that they might dance - Fever's stronger, since she spent so long training at arms, but she's not as strong as would be needed to do this. Still, somehow, it works. Fierce, graceful, requiring utmost trust. But they dance, and he trusts her through it - the lie is swallowed with ease, him confident in his control, that such a pesky thing as a soul would not trouble them.

Distantly, Fever thinks it would be beautiful, if they could only dance as themselves. Another time, another place, a happier moment - something that isn't this.

[redlightgreenlight]

Valdis is far less concerned about how everyone watching will receive the events on the stage than she is about Fever who seems torn between herself and Fenrir. After all, anyone who knows her will know she broke free and she didn't let any of this hold her back. They know she is powerful, even if they don't know how terrible that power is. If anything, she's more offended by what is being done to her loved ones than what is being done to her.

She's long since accepted her past, accepted how it broke her and how she put the pieces back together to create someone who could embrace the power she had and never allow herself to be at the mercy of someone else again.

She's been failing at the latter, but not to the point of despair, after all a lady scorned tends to take revenge when it is least expected.

Similar thoughts had filled her mind then just as they do now, but in this moment, she needs to get Fever through their current situation.

Don't focus on him, Fever, focus on what we will do when we escape from here.

Aster's plans would come to pass, she was certain of that.

[abhorrently]

Will we shatter this place, and leave it naught but ruins? Will we never have to breathe its air again?

If Efrain would have Fenrir creep under her skin, Fever would find the root of this infection and choke him out, until he retreats away, back to whatever shreds of nightmare he crawled from. She pushes, hard, in her mind - back, back, back.

Will we feel something in the barrier weaken, when he no longer can help fuel it?

[redlightgreenlight]

If that is what you desire.

But what about after this is over. After Nimona has killed Efrain. After they have defeated Aster and Nyarlathotep. What then do they desire? Valdis isn't certain she dares to look beyond all that.

It does the trick though, she can feel Fever creeping back to the forefront, ahead of the character she plays. But there is still a scene to be finished.

Valdis turns into Fever's arms, leaning in close to kiss her, a kiss that was designed to tell Fenrir that she believed him, that she was still his, but she pours everything she feels for Fever into the moment, doing her best to make it about them and not the King of Hounds.

[abhorrently]

Fenrir is swept back by the tide of emotion, the lines of the script fulfilled but not the spirit of them. A bond forged by choice would always be stronger than one placed under duress - and it's Fever that's looking at Valdis when she draws back, commanded to separate. To let them linger for too long would be unearned kindness, and still, Fever fights to not move away until made to. Made to walk away, contented and confident in his world.

Efrain will shatter for this. To rip out his throat, and see how well he sings afterwards - it will be a delight.