ph_logs | MARCH SADNESS - A Symphony of Sorrow

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 |

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

As stylized as this dance is, she can pick out moments from memory that suit the steps. She can feel the pain Max is in, how he strains against the compulsion. She knows he's going to have questions, knows her painful past will be laid bare through his own hands at the beckoning of a demon whose heart she wants nothing more than to devour, and if Aster keeps his word, it will be in her hands soon enough, as will whatever choice she decides to make.

I know.

None of that makes this better, not when her partner is filled with so much agony. She pulls away, a part of the dance, and manages to 'break' his grip for a moment, but he catches her hand and pulls her back into his embrace. It would probably hurt far less for them both if they stopped fighting it. One of his hands trails up to hold her throat as he holds her against his chest, symbolically dominating at most.

Stop fighting, Max. It will only hurt more if you do.

She can't believe she's saying it, but there's no need to exasperate the emotional pain with physical.

I can't. I can't...

He knows what she says is true. Part of him even wants to just give in and let this horrible thing play out like a limp puppet on strings... but he can't. He can't feel himself shoving her around and not rail against it. This runs contrary to every fiber of his being, his instincts scream for him to stop. The strength of will she's helped him to find is too strong now to relinquish.

I don't care if it hurts. All I care about is you.

I care if it hurts.

They slip into steps they both know well, a little less forceful on his part, a little more willing on hers, outwardly at least. Valdis knows well that this is Meira losing hope, losing the will to keep fighting, desperately wanting the pain to stop and seeking relief from the very person causing it. Fenrir never offered it, not really. In the end, her only choice had been to shatter.

A tear rolls down his cheek as he looks to her pleadingly.

I'll try...

He hates how much this feels like giving up. It feels like going back to the time before, when he was almost as much a prisoner in his own body, forced to wear a fake smile and dance on Erik's strings for the public to see. But, for her, he forces himself to relax tense muscles, and to move with the music instead of resisting it. Physically it hurts less--emotionally, he's not so sure.

She can feel how hard it is for him to let go, knows how selfish it is to ask him to stop resisting when she's always wanted him to overcome. But it's enough to feel his emotional pain without having to think about the physical pain he's in by resisting.

The pain of everyone is bad enough that she just wants to hide within it all. She doesn't have a choice right now, but the moment she does, Efrain and his goons will pay.

I love you, Max.

I love you, Valdis. He means it with all his heart, even as his body is forced to continue handling her roughly.

Max always suspected she had something like this in her past. As long as she has lived, and as much as she has endured, it was harder to think it hadn't. Still, he would give anything to have found out a different way. Why did it have to be like this? With him playing the part of her abuser in front of so many eyes, before he's even had the chance to talk to her about it alone. It's the kind of cruelty he'll never forgive. It fills his heart with murderous intent, aimed at each and every one of the demon princes.

I'm so sorry he did this to you.

His sorrow slowly turns to anger, an overflowing rage she knows is directed at Fenrir just as much as it is the demon princes. Even as they dance this awful tango, as he's forced to throw her around the stage without any care or regard, she doesn't feel the same anger. If anything, she feels defeated.

I'm not.

She knows the words don't make sense as he grabs the winged back of her dress and tears it away like he's ripping her wings off. It unravels as she spins away from him, the white dress becoming one that shines a bloody red. Her steps shift, different now, more sensual than afraid. He steps toward her, the white remains falling from his hand to the floor, offering her his hand.

I might never have met you if he hadn't.

She takes it and he turns her into a deep dip, following it up with a kiss.

Tears roll down his cheeks as his fingers grip the fake feathers and pull. She looks breathtaking twirling in that now bloody red dress. The color has always suited her, and he can't help but be captivated by her sensual movements, even now when it almost feels like a betrayal. Almost, but not. Not when she says that to him. Not when it's still her lips meeting his.

If what happened to you and to me brought us together, then... I'm not sorry either.

Finally, he completely relaxes into the motions, giving up the last of his resistance. He's resigned to see this through, but not content to give those bastard demons any more of his suffering.

Project your love to me, and feel mine too, Valdis. We don't have to let them win. This whole performance might be against their will, but it can't change his feelings for her. The demons can't touch their inner world together.

MARCH SADNESS - A Symphony of Sorrow

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject