From the shadows, he watched her move across the stage. She was luminous under the spotlights, her voice a low, melodic hum that held the audience in a trance. The play was a tragedy, a story of two lovers separated by a war of their own making. Every line she spoke felt like a serrated blade, mainly because Elias had written them during the darkest month of their breakup.
The door creaked open. Elias stood there, his tuxedo slightly disheveled, looking less like a celebrated writer and more like a man lost in his own plot. The Erotic Diary of Misty Mundae
She finally looked at him through the mirror, her eyes bright with a mix of stage makeup and genuine tears. "We aren't the play, Elias. We’re the people who have to go home when the lights go out." From the shadows, he watched her move across the stage