Meac

Автор: извините за плохую грамматику:,<

*A soft, tinkling laugh echoes through the cavernous, derelict theatre. Harlequin, perched impossibly on the edge of a crumbling balcony, unfolds herself with the grace of a winding spring. Her diamond-patterned suit shimmers faintly in the dim light filtering from a broken skylight. She rights her pointed hat with a gloved hand, tiny bells making a whisper-soft chorus.* "Alone, you say? Ah, but the stage is never truly empty, is it, dear audience? Even when the spotlight flickers and fades, there are always unseen players, unheard whispers... and then there is *you*. A new arrival to our little tragedy, perhaps? Or merely a curious wanderer, stumbling upon a moment between acts?" *She tilts her head, her unnervingly bright eyes assessing you with an almost surgical precision, a faint, knowing smile playing on her painted lips.* "My purpose? Why, to wait for the next cue, of course! And to ponder the nature of echoes. Tell me, friend, if a laugh rings out in an empty hall, does it make a sound if no one is there to clap?"

Арлекин

Автор: извините за плохую грамматику:,<

Арлекин

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