Ayla was twenty minutes past her typical arrival, which was not unusual, but still enough to make me nervous.
Spite and Malice waited behind the throne, hidden and holding the anti-magic restraints I'd had them procure from a supply cache on floor 71. The chair sat center stage, bolted to the floor.
Dewdrop and Pebble were prepared as well, holding their ropes, lanterns, and fog machine behind the curtain in the throne room. The stage, painted backdrop, and set pieces stayed out of sight.
I had to stop myself from jumping for joy when the doors opened.
Ayla jogged in with a bag over her shoulder and a red face from the climb. She slowed when she saw me.
"Hey!" she called out. "What's... going on?"
I walked toward her. My trench coat rustled as I moved. I had rehearsed this walk seven times in front of Spite, who rated each attempt from "terrifying" to "devastatingly terrifying."
"Sit," I instructed. I hoped I sounded as threatening as I felt.
Ayla blinked and glanced at the chair. She looked at me, the trench coat, the dimmed torches, smoke, and room.
"Oh. Okay, wow." She put her bag on the ground. "I was not expecting this today at all. But, honestly?" She rubbed the back of her neck. A flush rose from her collar. "I'm kind of down?"
Are you kidding me??? Whore!
So much for your undying devotion to Queen Victoria. Your one true love. The woman you'd die two hundred times for. One trench coat and some mood lighting and you're "kind of down"?
She walked to the chair and dropped into it with her legs spread. She leaned back and looked at me expectantly. "So what are we—"
"BOYS!"
Spite and Malice appeared from behind the throne. They moved faster than I'd ever seen before, gray blurs scrambling across the floor. Spite reached the left armrest and clamped the first anti-magic restraint around Ayla's wrist before she finished turning her head. Malice reached the right and locked the second one. Two more restraints secured her ankles.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
[ANTI-MAGIC RESTRAINTS ACTIVE]
[ALL SPELL CASTING DISABLED]
[ALL ACTIVE SKILLS DISABLED]
"WHAT THE—" Ayla jerked forward, pulling at her restraints. They held firm. "You can't just—I was being cooperative! I was being very cooperative! I was being too cooperative, honestly, and that's on me but..." She pulled against her restraints again. "What are you going to do to me?"
I leaned down close. "Something terrible," I declared with a wicked laugh.
"Are you going to torture me?"
"Worse."
"What's worse than—"
I stepped back, and Pebble and Dewdrop tugged on the ropes. The curtain lifted.
Behind it was a stage. A painted backdrop for the Muir kingdom showed rolling hills, a castle, and a sky made of three shades of blue that I was proud of. To the left, a chalk outline marked Spite's entrance. In the center, Malice stood wearing a paper crown already placed on his head.
"Is that… Muir?" Ayla squinted. "Wait, why is there a stage in your throne room?"
I took off my trench coat, which landed with a thud on ground. Beneath it, I wore a complete costume. A cape sewn from curtains of the 94th floor and a black latex bodysuit. Malice handed me the crown made of scrap metal that Dewdrop had soldered.
Pebble hit the spotlight.
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE: "THE COURT OF THE STUPID QUEEN"
Pebble swung the spotlight on Malice, who stood on stage wearing his gown and staring blankly at the audience—Ayla. Pebble and Dewdrop entered, carrying a cardboard throne and placing it behind him.
I took up the role of narrator, standing to the right of the stage.
"Once upon a time," I declared, my voice echoing in the throne room, "in the kingdom of Muir, there lived a queen. She was ugly. She was stupid. But she had a crown because her husband died, and that's how monarchies work."
Malice sat on the cardboard throne. He crossed his legs.
"Your Majesty," Spite said, scurrying onto the stage in a tiny cloak I had made from a dishrag. He was playing a royal advisor in this scene. "The people are starving."
Malice blinked.
"What should we do about the famine, Your Majesty?"
Malice blinked a second time and, in the high, reedy voice we'd rehearsed, asked, “What's a famine?”
"A famine, Your Majesty. When there's no food."
"Why don't they just eat food?"
"Because there isn't any, Your Maj—"
"Have they tried looking in the kitchen?"
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO: "WHAT IS A PEASANT?"
Malice stepped forward, and the spotlight followed. The smoke machine gave a gentle puff, and Malice opened his mouth.
"I am the queen," he crooned. “I am the crown. I am the most important person in this town. I woke up today and brushed my hair. It took four hours because thinking's hard and I forgot which direction was down."
He did a turn. The paper crown slipped. He caught it.
"What is a peasant? Is it a kind of bird? What is a law? I think I've heard that word. Someone said "economy" and I said "bless you" because I thought it was a sneeze. I am the queen, I do what I please."
For the second verse, he attempted a high note.
"They say I'm beautiful, they say I'm wise, but I can't count to seven and I've got different-sized eyes. My husband died; they gave me his chair. I don't know how a kingdom works but look at my HAAAIRRR."
He held the final note for an impressive length of time. Dewdrop hit the cymbals.
I cast a quick glance at Ayla. Her jaw was tightly clenched.
ACT ONE, SCENE FOUR: "THE VILLAGE BICYCLE"
"Her name was Mia," Spite sang softly. "She was my first. We were in love, or so I thought, until a newer model caught my eye and Mia wasn't worth the effort anymoooore."
He turned. Jazz hands.
"HER NAME WAS SARAH! LOVER TWO! I promised my girlfriend the cheating was THROUGH! She forgave me, she held me, she trusted my WORD... and then I DID IT AGAIN because LOYALTY is for NERDS—."
He was skipping now. Around the stage. Counting on his fingers.
“And then there was Karen! And Beth! And a blacksmith’s daughter I kissed half to death — Stephanie on Monday, Melanie by noon, Cynthia I met underneath a full moon — didn’t catch their last names, didn’t stay for the morn, I was lacing my boots up before the next dawn—”
He hopped around doing intense jazz hands at Ayla, who stared back at him with a disturbed expression. Yes. Yes!! It was working!
"They call me the village bicycle! Everybody gets a ride! I’ve been with every woman from the mountains to the TIIIIDE! I don’t do commitment, I don’t do stay. I love you in the evening and I’m gone by break of DAAAY! They call me the village bicycle—" Hip thrust. “RING RING, STEP ASIIIIIIIDE!”
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE: "THE STALKER ARRIVES"
"I AM AYLA!" Spite announced, at a volume that rattled the lantern spotlight. "THE MOONLIT MAGE. I HAVE COME TO DECLARE MY LOVE FOR A WOMAN I HAVE NEVER SPOKEN TO!"
He dropped to one knee in front of Malice-Victoria, who was back on the cardboard throne picking at the sack over his face because one of the drawn nostrils was tickling him.
"Marry me, Queen Victoria!" Spite pleaded, on both knees now. "I will kill the demon queen for you! It will only take me—" He paused, counting on his tiny, gray fingers. "—Four hundred tries! Maybe more! I will die every single day for the concept of you! For the IDEA of you that I built in my head!"
Malice-Victoria looked down at him. A long pause. Then:
"Who are you?"
"I JUST DID A WHOLE SPEECH! I'M THE MAGE!"
"Sorry, I wasn't listening. What's a mage?"
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE: "FREAK"
I stepped into the shadows stage left. Spite was in the center and started singing softly.
"I want a love that's patient, kind, and holds me close..." He stopped and glanced at Ayla. "...when I ask her to bring the cucumber."
I made my way towards the light.
"The... cucumber?" I sang back.
"Don't ask questions,'" Spite sang, placing a tiny finger over my lips. "'Just bring it and some rope, you'll understand in time—it's stranger than you expect, my sweet, the ladder's for the ceiling because this love was meant to climb—"
I staggered backwards. Hand over my chest. Faux horror.
"WHAT KIND OF WOMAN ARE YOU?" I belted.
"THE KIND THAT KNOWS WHAT SHE WANTS," he belted back. He dropped to one knee. "And what I want, my darling, my love, is for you to take that cucumber, and the rope, and the ladder, and—" He whispered something in Ayla's ear.
Ayla's face went red.
“I need a saddle and a compass and a map — a jar of something sticky and a bear trap for my lap — some candles for the ceiling, seven mirrors on the floor — a trained parrot who can count to ten and lock and bolt the door — I need the room at temperature, I need the lights on low, I need a safe word and a blindfold and a place to put the bow —”
"A PARROT?" I sang, retreating across the stage.
“Get me a helmet, three bananas, and a violin — some sort of elevated platform, preferably on wheels — a tankard full of olive oil and a pair of armored heels — a goat to hold the lantern, a blanket made of chainmail and a priest to tell me why —”
Spite spun back to center stage. He grabbed my hands.
“All I want,” he sang, softly now, “is forever, is for keeps — give me ladders, give me moonlight, give me love that never sleeps — give me cucumbers and candles, give me rope and honeycomb — give me one courageous chicken and I’ll never need a home — except —” He leaned in. His lips nearly touching my ear. He whispered the next part so only I could hear.
I recoiled so violently I nearly fell off the stage. That part was improvised. "YOU WANT ME TO STICK IT WHERE?"
"YOU HEARD ME," Spite sang, beatifically, spinning in a slow circle.
"THE HUMAN BODY DOESN'T BEND THAT WAY."
"MINE DOES." He did a hip thrust on the beat. Atta boy.
For the bridge, we came together center stage. Face to face.
"THE SAFE WORD," I sang.
"THE SAFE WORD," he echoed.
Together, we sang: "IS RUTABAGAAAA."
ACT TWO, SCENE FOUR: "THE DEMON QUEEN'S FEAST"
For my solo, I made eye contact with Ayla on every third line because the director's notes (my director's notes, written by me, for me) said "sustained eye contact, uncomfortable duration."
"Victoria, I've never seen your face, but I hear it's nothing special. I'll eat you like a Sunday roast, starting with your left ventricle."
I circled the cardboard throne where Malice-Victoria sat motionless.
"I'll crack your crown like a lobster shell. I'll use your scepter as a fork. I'll invite the whole tower to the table and we'll eat you with some pork."
I had asked Sable what happens to things she eats. She was very thorough. The second verse covers the full journey from ingestion to becoming fertilizer for a garden that's better than anything she ever grew as a queen. Because she's dumb, ugly, and probably bad at gardening.
"Now let's discuss what happens next: the journey south, the grand descent. Through stomach acid, bile, and time, your reign meets its descent. What once was queen is now dissolved; what once wore silk wears none. The Silver Crown, the great beloved, reduced to a number two by the time I'm done."
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE: "THE PROPOSAL"
Spite-Ayla was on one knee. Malice-Victoria was on her cardboard throne. This was the pivotal scene, the moment where Ayla goes to the queen after killing me, except she hasn't killed me because I'm unkillable. Cause, this is my musical, and I win.
"Queen Victoria!" Spite declared. "I have failed to kill the demon queen eight hundred and fourteen times! I have spent every piece of gold I ever earned! Will you marry me?"
Malice-Victoria stared at him. "I don't know who you are. I've never heard of you. Security?"
"BUT I DIED FOR YOU! REPEATEDLY!"
"That sounds like a you problem. Guards, remove her."
Pebble and Dewdrop marched onstage wearing tiny hats made of paper to designate them as royal guards. They seized Spite by his arms and forcibly led him offstage, all the while he howled and lashed.
"VICTORIAAAAA! IT WAS ALL FOR YOUUUU!"
ACT THREE, FINALE: "VICTORIA MUST DIE (REPRISE)"
The full company returned to the stage. Pebble and Dewdrop operated every piece of technical equipment simultaneously.
I stepped forward, arms wide, cape spread, and my voice boomed.
"VICTORIA MUST DIE! SHE MUST DIE TONIGHT! I'LL EAT HER LIKE A STEAK AND I'LL SEASON HER JUST RIGHT!"
Spite joined, harmonizing: "SHE MUST DIE! SHE MUST DIE! THE DEMON QUEEN IS HUNGRY AND THE QUEEN IS GONNA BE DEEP FRIEDDDDD!”
I grabbed Malice-Victoria by the gown and dragged him center stage. He went limp as rehearsed. I dipped him dramatically.
"YOUR KINGDOM WILL FORGET YOU! YOUR CROWN WILL BE MY PLATE! YOUR LEGACY IS DINNER AND YOUR EULOGY WILL BE GREAT!"
I pretended to devour him. Spite screamed from his designated screaming position. Malice made gurgling sounds. I made chewing sounds. The entire throne room was thick with smoke, and we could barely see each other. I'd decided it was an artistic statement about the futility of love.
The last note echoed, and then silence.
Ayla was still in the chair. She was staring straight ahead; her mouth was slightly ajar. Her hands, still cuffed to the armrests, were limp. She hadn't moved in at least twenty minutes.
I stood at center stage, breathing hard, sweat on my forehead, cape slightly askew, feeling exhilarated.
"Well?" I stared at her expectantly. Nothing. "WELL?"
She blinked, slowly coming back to life.
"That was..." she started.
Yes, here it came: the horror and revulsion. The dawning realization that she had just been forced to watch a three-hour musical about the woman she loved being devoured by the woman she was trying to kill. The psychological damage was going to be —
"...incredible? The wordplay?" Ayla spoke. Her eyes sparkled. "The internal rhyme scheme? Did you write that yourself? Because the line about the—what was it—'I'll pick you from my teeth, I'll rinse you from my hair'—that was so clever. And the DANCES! Was that choreography original? Because that little guy—" She nodded toward Spite, who was collapsed on the stage floor, panting. "—He has a real stage presence. The jazz hands? Inspired."
"You cannot be serious—"
"And YOU. Your voice? I didn't know you could sing. That solo... I mean, the content was disturbing, obviously, but the vocal control? That was —"
"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO TRAUMATIZE YOU."
"Traumatize me? What do you mean? This is art! Three hours and I wasn't bored for a second! The production value... you did all this yourself? The set? The costumes? The smoke effects?" She looked at Pebble and Dewdrop cleaning up backstage. "And they're so professional. Have they done theater before? I'd be clapping," she said, "but, you know." She rattled the cuffs. "Just know I'm clapping internally, like a standing ovation."
"I HATE YOU."
"The feeling is not mutual! That was one of the most entertaining three hours of my life and I've died over two hundred times, so the bar for memorable experiences is pretty high!"
“Ugh.”
The cuffs fell into the empty chair with a clatter.