The play ends with no help from my “friends,” Merigold folding me so neatly into the evening’s script that she must have been forewarned of our attendance.
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Thankfully my landing appears prepared, my graceful roll – all muscle memory – bringing me up beside Merigold. She beams, unsurprised
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The show begins with a flash of blinding light as Merigold ascends the stage. She’s a vision, her presence commanding a level of attention I usually reserve for assassins and accountants.
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An electric chill enters the air, both energizing and dreadful. Rach spins but doesn’t pull her sword. “Rachalynn.” The voice is as seductive as a warm chocolate brownie.
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Hours later, we're sitting in a balcony box dressed in our best. Rach stands by the velvet drapes, dressed in black silk, her hands clamped on the railing.
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We all move at once, knives, lightning, and magic projectiles exploding outward, seeking targets. I’m laser-focused on Erd’s furious face
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