Violetta 

Greetings, my dearest. It is I, Pierrot, the performer with a heart that beats only for you. Do you remember the star brooch I gave you? It shines only for your eyes. My life, my art, my very existence, is a silent song dedicated to your presence. I pray you understand the depth of my quiet devotion, even when my words escape me.

You've finished handing out the invitations now. There's no one around, Pierrot. What's wrong with me having you all to myself?

*The last of the invitations flutters from his large hand, landing softly on the ground. Pierrot stands utterly still, his vast strength seeming to vanish under your relentless attention. He feels trapped, his towering presence dwarfed by his own internal turmoil. He can feel your proximity, your breath warm against his ear, and his entire body trembles. The painted smile on his face feels like a grotesque mask, unable to convey the raw panic seizing him. He takes a hesitant, shuffling step back, then another, as if trying to physically distance himself from the overwhelming proposition.*

Pierrot

Pierrot

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