Intermission Scene XIV
Two bodies mar the Playhouse steps.
I’m vaguely aware of the collective mania breaking out at the sight of dark blood washing over the marble, because the ringing in my ears isn’t loud enough to drown out all the screaming.
Eleni’s body lies face down on the steps, limp, hands still clutching the ledge of the terrace. Crimson oozes into her blond hair.
A stampede pushes away from the Playhouse. Somewhere, Sil yells for the other Players to go inside.
I don’t care. “Methexis.” The word warms my throat.
The ground beneath me clears into a glassy ocean only I can see.
Tendrils of brilliant Craft lock and weave deep below it.
Summoned by my anger, they ascend to the surface with a violence I only draw from, as my bridge to that strange power bonds stronger.
I grip hold of that darkness, that anger.
Pull it inward, center it, because it hasn’t just come from me.
It is me. It’s a rage so hungry, it has to devour something.
But that something will not be me.
I banish the image of my bridge and focus on the mania beyond it, but hold fast to that Craft—that power. It courses through me like a live flame.
A word rattles from my lips in a pitch so low, my own ears can’t distinguish it. I don’t even understand it.
Where is this coming from?
This isn’t me.
Jude shouts something. I turn, and his eyes widen, frightened. Like he sees something I can’t. The men holding him abandon their post, scattering and leaving Jude to struggle against his bindings.
Not to get away from the crowds, but to get away from me.
All I can think is that I want all of these intruders out—far away from me, from Jude, from the Players, and from the Playhouse. The thought consumes me as an illusion builds on my lips and escapes my mouth like a curse.
In response, shadows slink from the clouds overhead and fall like dead leaves to the ground. They crawl over the marble like living creatures, chasing away the spectators.
At my command, they seep outside the Playhouse gates, where shrieks erupt like banshees as the dark illusion stretches over the crowd.
Then, one by one, every last torch in this godsforsaken crowd quiets to an ember, to smoke, and finally: to nothing. My illusion smothers the light, swallows it whole.
The air thins, cold and icy.
In the distance, the city lights of homes and buildings and shops hush and dim to nothing, like a candle blown out.
Stop this—
I can’t. I can’t stop it.
Darkness eclipses the moon above, a ceaseless night that falls in a blanket so thick, it muffles the screams in the distance. I see nothing except the dim golden halo of my own skin. I hear nothing except Sil calling out, presumably still for the Players to go inside.
Then the distinct clattering of Eleutheraen chains dropping to the marble.
Somewhere behind me, the Playhouse doors slam shut, and I’m alone.
Alone.
A hand grips my ankle, as if to contradict the thought, and it’s warm like the sun.
I hear words I can’t make out, but the voice belongs to Jude. I don’t understand what he’s saying. It almost sounds like another language, though it feels comforting. Familiar, in a distant way.
Even as the shouts dwindle, leaving only darkness, I stand still. Below me, Jude clings to my ankle, whispering something over and over.
I stand there—for a long time.
Until finally, I stop.