212 lines
6.8 KiB
XML
212 lines
6.8 KiB
XML
<vnscene name="ScenePrologue0" extend="scenes/SceneMonologue">
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<events>
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<goto-marker name="test" />
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<text>
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<string lang="en"><font style="italics">There is a bucket.</font></string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en"><font style="italics">It sways above your head like the mouth of a god. You are on Angelwood's best stage, and they are cheering for you, calling you their Queen, their Prom Queen.</font></string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en"><font style="italics">And you are dead soon.</font></string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en"><font style="italics">It's Prom Day. The metal bucket is swaying. Over you. Drenching your white pristine dress in guts and gore red. They aren't cheering anymore. They're gasping. But not screaming: oh, no, not in respectable Angelwood.</font></string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en"><font style="italics">God. You didn't think a pig's intestines could feel so cold.</font></string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en"><font style="italics">You are dead when the bucket falls - crushes your skull - caves you open - drenches you and drenches you, drowns you, fells you and kills, kills, kills you.</font></string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en"><font style="italics">And the last thing you see -</font></string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en"><font style="italics">Is their eyes.</font></string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I wake.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I gasp. I close my eyes — I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm still here. Breathing.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">That bucket was a dream. My death was a dream. I'm not dead.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(Am I?)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(...)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(Aren't I?)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">Of course I'm not.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I exhale. My feet fall to the edges of my bed. Slowly, I raise myself to stand.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">My fingers tremble by the edges of my leg: I curl my hand in. My nails catch on my skin. They're sharp, pastel pink. Done for Prom Day today.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">The dream didn't happen. How could it have? Prom Day hasn't happened yet.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I'm fine.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(Didn't it happen?)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(It felt so...)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(Real.)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I tidy the bedsheets. Pull the corners over the bed's edges, fluff up the pillows, pat away the sweat and the residue of a scream: my parents want it pretty.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">It wasn't real. I only had a visceral dream, sunken into my brain as an anchor to a sea, as a stone angel's crumbling visage, as a bird's descent off Devil Cradle's cliffs. That wasn't real.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">No, of course not.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">My calendar says May 29th. I've got to prepare for Prom.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">After all, if there is anything I will be, it is Prom Queen.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I've been chasing this moment since the beginning of time. Today is the finale.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">And I am nothing if not ready.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I open the windows of my mansion.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">Angelwood glimmers back at me. The mist curdles the morning; leaving dew drops and spiderweb crystals upon the forests.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">This is the namesake of my town. The urban myth goes that angels had descended into the town to be's heartlands, hauling humans upon their backs, and when no one needed them anymore, immortalised themselves in stone.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">They are everywhere: stone angel after stone angel claims residence in the town's square, among the fountains, upon the two-storey high walls.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">They are visible even from here.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I exhale. The town is stirring awake.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I get dressed.</string>
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</text>
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<choices key="dress">
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<title>
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<string lang="en">I get dressed.</string>
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</title>
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<choice value="pink">
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<string lang="en">A pink tulle, a kind of prettier dress.</string>
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</choice>
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</choices>
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<marker name="test" />
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<text>
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<string lang="en">On the morning of May 29th, my mother is proud of me. She had been Angelwood's Queen in her eighteens. I am carrying her legacy on my shoulders, and today she finally believes I will be victorious.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">"I wouldn't expect any less from our daughter,” Mother says. She smiles at me: it creases her mouth in an unnatural way. "Doesn't Ethereality look like Angelwood's Queen already?”</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">My father nods his agreement. "Yes,” he tells me, "An Estridge in her finest.”</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(I've done this before. I've had this talk before, on May 29th, oh I remember it so clearly.)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(Father, he'll look over my dress.)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">Father looks over my dress. He is not glinting with as much pride as Mother. But he approves.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(Mother, she'll squeeze my fingers.)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">Mother squeezes my fingers, as delicate as a dove. Her smile is no less unnatural. But it fits her.</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(And I, I'll pay gratitude.)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">"Thank you,” I say. "I'm really happy you think that.”</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">(They'll gaze at me with so much love and pride and feeling.)</string>
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</text>
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<text>
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<string lang="en">I smile. I leave.</string>
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</text>
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</events>
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</vnscene> |