HERE LIES THE VIOLENCE OF MIMICRY. in a charitable representation, vita has lost himself in the process of replication. in a realistic representation, there was nothing on stage but a vanity mirror and the blood of first choice actors. ( what a relief, the understudies are finally under the spotlight! )

foolishly, nika’s mouth opens to answer the unanswerable question. you’re acting, obviously. or you’re playing a game ... some kind of prank, maybe? these words don’t have to be said to be written; these actions don’t have to be scripted to be real. in the sea of answers, nika says nothing. the world plunges into darkness and his words fall flat to an unrecognizable face.

( BEYOND THE SMOKE AND MIRRORS, THERE ONLY LIES YOU AND ME. YOU FOLLOW THE SCRIPT SO DUTIFULLY, STAGE ACTOR. )

he can only deny the truth for so long before it rots. like a fly to a molding peach, nika settles for a reality that feels safe. he doesn’t dare to move, lest he bump into vita in the lonely audience. even now, he refuses to denounce vita’s humanity. even now, he offers an empathy that we, writers, cannot afford to give.

( A THOUSAND EMPTY SEATS, WITH A THOUSAND HOLLOW EYES — GOD SMILES DOWN CRUELLY. )

17!

   from her periphery, his figure carves a stark contrast among the sea of bodies that packed the sidewalk. he matches that same detachment everyone wore, but somehow, he also feels beyond it, situated somewhere past her understanding, the same way vicious felt⸺  realization coils around her lungs, faye only barely stopping herself from gasping his name: vitaly !  that’s the guy, she recalls as jet’s tip resurfaces in her mind. ha, as if merely bleaching his hair and braiding it could significantly alter one’s likeness. 

IN THE EMPTY THEATRE HALL, THERE ARE A MILLION EYES ON HIM. he lingers around the entrance, hand resting on the wall, shoes squeaking uncomfortably against the floor. everything about this — everything about him doesn’t belong here. he feels sick. attention turns, wide - eyed, at the performer in front of him, who’s running lines for ... well, he doesn’t know. nika always believed that this place was abandoned. 

a familiar face brings nothing but dread. the spotlight shines on vita — or, what looks like vita. he moves and speaks with such gracefulness, nika’s almost convinced it’s nothing more than a marionette. there’s a pause where he realizes he’s speaking to him, waiting for an answer that hasn’t been scripted yet.