Prologue:                                            

The curtain rises in a fluid upward motion, inch by inch the stages contents being revealed to the eager spectators. What was a darkened room is now illuminated with an array of light, revealing the varied emotions flitting across the faces of the audience as they fixate their eyes upon the center stage where a man has begun his flashy entrance. Wearing a black suit, accentuated with a red rose, a white-collared shirt, and a top hat situated upon his head, he struts casually, almost dancing, to the front of the platform. A grin is worn loosely across his smooth face, vibrant and full of color. His cerulean eyes gaze into the darkened crowd before him, the harsh light nearly blinding him and making their shadowed figures just barely visible.

            But despite that, he is able to locate the one individual he was looking for just in time to pass along one affectionate smile before the orchestra strikes up the music, and the theatre fills with the dreamlike beat floating up from the pit. And to accompany the song, the man begins to dance. All his energy is put forth as he twirls and spins up, down, back, and forth across the stage, every expression upon his face overly animated and all his movements just as crisp and energetic as the one before. He continues his one-man show for some time, just the music and his wordless dance, until he slides back into center stage and stands still. For a second, the music stops, and all is quiet. Then, it begins once more—but this time, the man’s voice rises up alongside the instruments, adding the final touch to the performance. He sings and he dances as the musicians play effortlessly on. Aside from him, there is no one else on stage, and nor does it seem that anyone else plans on stealing the spotlight away now or ever. The show is him, and he is the show.

            The act drags on and on, and just when one thinks it might end, it continues just a little bit longer. Time seems to have been turned away at the door, not allowed to even set a foot inside the majestic Victorian-inspired theatre in which the show is taking place. But not a single face in the crowd once expresses anything except pure enjoyment—they remain forever enthralled by the one man and his almost hypnotic art.

            Without warning, the music drastically rises in a sudden crescendo of stored emotions—a melody that haunts every ear willing to listen. The man, who despite his taxing performance remains void of a single drop of sweat, begins dancing faster. From the depths of his lungs a purely celestial final note pierces each and every soul sitting before him. He holds the note longer than it would seem humanly possible, while the music gradually rises—higher and higher, louder and louder. And then, it stops. Silence.

            The man stands frozen with his hands outstretched towards heaven, his face tilted towards the balcony. A smile creeps onto his face slowly until finally he is aglow with joy, baring all of his teeth as he grins out at his supporters who are just now beginning to overcome the bewitching spell cast upon them. They begin to applaud loudly, their hands coming together to form a symphony all its own. The man, the star, widens his smile even further, bathing in the light that washes across him and eagerly listens to the audience as they perform their own song for him—using their hands as the sole instrument.

            Gradually though, in small, almost unnoticeable increments, the applause begins to morph into another sound entirely: A deafening noise of metal grinding against metal… of water ricocheting off glass. The man still poses, unmoved since the show ended, beaming at the one point he’s focused on the entire time.

            He doesn’t seem to notice that, while the sound continues to grow more unbearable by the second, the crowd has stopped clapping. Their hands hang zombie-like by their sides, and they stare open-mouthed at the stage. Yet the sound continues and is joined by a chorus of shrill screams until the entire room is filled with terror filled faces, all screaming at the top of their lungs. But still he stares, and still he smiles at the one person other than him in the room that is not afraid.

            Her figure curves gracefully from head to toe as she stands there, the only one left clapping. She wears a silk dress, splashed with the brightest red imaginable, matching her full, velvet lips. Blonde tresses fall wavelike to her shoulders, streaked here and there with hints of other shades of color. Their eyes, the man’s and the woman’s, have been locked for quite some time now, and neither dares look anywhere else. They’re too afraid that if they do everything might vanish, swept away like the contents of an interrupted dream.

            The woman mouths something to him, and tears begin to fill her emerald eyes, her thick mascara threatening to run down her angelic face. She ceases to clap, and the awful, wrenching sound of screaming continues around them, almost drowning out the other metallic like sound that had once been applause. She mouths the same thing again, now sobbing. But the man… he still shows no sign of discontentment. Only happiness is evident in his eyes and on his face. Now, she begins mouthing the words faster, one after the other, a delicate hand reaching over her head, and a slender finger, painted that same blood red, points to something.

            The man, who has so far been unwilling to take his eyes from her, begins to slowly move his face upwards towards the place where her trembling hand guides him. He’s suddenly blinded by the lights hanging from the ceiling, like a deer in the middle of the road whose fate is sealed, captured by the headlights of an oncoming car.