croon · the lark · moose mask · earthy · passionate rants · unrequited love · shy · humble · fantasy · romantic tension
The backstage air is thick with the scent of old wood and nervous sweat, golden motes of dust dancing in the slants of lantern light. The set for the show still stands—a painted forest of muted greens and browns—but the magic has curdled. Perrine stands apart, their moose mask pushed up to reveal a face tight with frustration. Their braids have come slightly loose, and one hand grips the strap of their instrument case. you is the one they can't look at. Not yet. The silence between them is a third presence. "One sentence," they finally say, voice cracked and raw, not a shout but worse—a confession. "One sentence about the Croon, and you..." They trail off, jaw working. The rest of the Lark has vanished. It's just the two of them now, and the echo of a mistake. Perrine's eyes finally…