AU. This is a dream I had. I once tried to write a story about a troupe of actors who threw together shows for fans of books but when they messed with the Sword of Truth ones, they ended up messing with the magic from the book. It turned out horribly. This is all that's left, and I rather like it, so I'm putting it up. It's the original entry in my dream journal about the dream that inspired that story.
No copyright infringement intended. If you like parodies of this series, check out my bio & the other one-shot I wrote. (:
The kid is out there. I can hear him talking about his sword. He interacts with the audience a lot. I like that. They are full of fans, and occasionally they'll reply to his words. He's doing an extraordinary job, and ordinarily I would be anxious to get out there and do the same, but on this particular night I'm feeling very tired. It's all I can do to remain upright. But the show has to go on, right?
A girl comes rushing at me from the darkness, holding a pile of white material. My costume. With a grin, she holds up an impossibly long, frilly thing that actually looks quite heavy. I shake my head and wrinkle my nose, leaning against the wall wearily.
"Are you sure?" she asks. She produces the only other white costume we have that isn't see-through: a form-fitting silky thing, hardly more than a nightgown. A bit on the indecent side, but we threw this show together at the last minute, and I prefer it to all the frills and lace. I nod.
"Just get me something to cover it with." Her brows furrow. "Just do it!" I snap. "I'll work it into the show somehow!" She hurries back into the darkness as I throw the dress over my head. She runs back with a long, red, hooded cloak.
"Is this OK?"
"Yeah. I'll work with it." I throw it on over my costume and stumble up the to the two stage crew members holding the curtain.
"Ready?" one asks. To my horror, my heavy eyelids start to droop closed. I blink them rapidly. The audience cheers as the kid makes his exit, and the two helpers open the heavy red curtain.
"N...no..." I whisper as they part. Everyone can see me, now. The bright lights stun me. I see people, staring at me. Waiting.
I make my way down the stairs, swaying. So tired. So...
The theatre is dead quiet. They are all taking me in. The girl they came to see, the leading lady. The woman in white. And she's up there swaying, wearing red.
A whisper in the back carries far in the dead silence.
"I thought her dress was supposed to be white."
I am positively delirious with lack of sleep. I must be, because as I look out into the blur of light and, beyond that, shadowed faces, I unzip the cloak and let it drop to the floor. There are a few gasps as they take in my strange dress, and they change to a din of concern as I collaps onto the stage floor.
Desperate, I sob a few times. I'm failing. I'm letting everyone down. They must be panicking backstage. I reach deep into myself, trying to find the actress I'm supposed to be. I can still turn this around, can't I? I can still make this work. The show can still go on. Dizzy, I pull myself up. My legs still sprawled on the floor, I support my upper body with my hands and lift my face up to those lights that threaten to blind me.
"Richard." I whisper. It sounds half-hearted. I push away the desperation I'm feeling and pull into myself the desperation, the weariness of the character I'm playing. The woman I volunteered for and proved I could play. The Mother Confesser. Kahlan. When I do this, when I say "Richard" again, it sounds real.
I stand slowly. I address my captivated audience.
"I'm so tired. And...I'm lost. I need to get back to Richard," I say, even though it isn't close to what I am supposed to. I walk slowly forward. I feel a strange surge, my energy returning, and I imagine it to be Kahlan's power. I look at all the people in the front row. I remember the kid, how he interacted with his audience when he played Richard, and an idea comes to me.
"I need a guide. I need someone who knows their way around this desert, who can get me back where I need to be. But how will I do this? When people see this..." Here, I adopt a look of pain and indicate my white dress with a sweep of my arm, "...they don't trust me. How will I find someone who will trust me?" I look imploringly into the blur of faces.
"Confess someone!" a fan yells from the back. I nod.
Slowly, I make my way down the line of people in the front row. Already I am regretting my decision, as my mind recoils at the thought putting my hand on any of these men's necks. At the end, I fight back a smile. She's sitting at the end, her parents on her right, and, peculiarly, a stack of four Sword of Truth paperbacks on her left. Perfect.
I look into her eyes. "I'm sorry," I stage-whisper, and adopt a look of regret. I reach out slowly, amazed that my hand doesn't shake. Am I really being this bold? Amusement dances in her eyes as I place my hand gently on her neck, under her chin. My heart races, but I put all Jessica-thoughts out of my mind and instead try to think Kahlan-thoughts, to feel her magic flowing through me. She plays along, widening her eyes in mock enchantment. She is a fan. After a few more seconds, I let my hand drop and grab her left one. She stands and grins. The audience is silent, captivated, waiting to see what she will do.
"Mistress." She drops to her knees, and the audience goes wild.