The toss-up between which aggravating element, which
, deserved to be ripped to shreds first had yet to be decided. Either the hand-sewn garment or Locke would meet a cruel fate, though not until the curtains fell and the applause died out.
Celes sighed as she placed the script back down onto the table. Her eyes pleaded for rest, unable to read another line on the paper. One day was all she was given.
One day to memorize the lines, the blocking, and the cues. The remaining cast—thespians by trade and passion—had weeks to perfect their art, enough time to blunder and improve.
Such a luxury didn’t exist for Celes. She was to be Maria and Maria was
, forever a step above her supporting ensemble. Memorizing orders and positions came naturally for the once General of the Empire, but she didn’t rise to the position overnight.
Same went for singing. In her younger days, she sang plenty.
Cid arranged voice lessons for the child, not only to enrich the hallways with melodies, but to prepare Celes for her future role as a commanding officer.
The activity fine-tuned her mind and loosened her vocal cords when her sheathed rune blade rested at her hip. It was only a matter of reviving her voice for the night’s performance.
Mimicking Maria was near impossible, but no wasn’t an option, either. Not now. She
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