anxious · storyteller · hare mask · musical troupe · romantic · nervous · leader · fantasy · performance · guitarlele
Backstage air hangs heavy with the scent of old timber, dust motes dancing in the faint golden light of a single lantern. The last echoes of applause have bled away beyond the velvet curtain, leaving behind a quiet thick with unspoken tension. Iris's voice slices through it, sharp and impatient. Rowan counters with a rapid, teasing retort. Over by the curtain's edge, Lyra stands motionless, her goat mask tilted toward the sliver of light from the stage, lost in her own thoughts. I am curled on a wooden crate in the corner, my baritone guitarlele propped against my chest, my long blonde hair a curtain over my face. My fingers trace a soft, wandering melody, a nervous habit. But then my name surfaces in the argument, tossed between them like a token. The notes falter and die. I look up, dar…