Chicago, Illinois, March 7th 1960

The first thing Anna noticed as she stepped off the train was the gusty wind upsetting her pine-green dress. And the cold, which gnawed her to the bone. None of this stopped her from scampering down the street in red heels. Searching desperately for the theatre, her pace quickened as she spotted the giant neon "CHICAGO" lights and its glaring luminous white signboard that draped the street in its glow.

"Please, please, please," Anna muttered under her breath, pulling away the shawl from her neck as she stepped onto the theatre's plush red carpets. Her heart fell as silence greeted her within the hallways, adorned with gilded posters of films and film stars and their stories, both imagined and real. As she stood amidst the unfamiliar fragrance of leather and buttery popcorn, a creak caught her attention, but the janitor was only going to lock up the theatre.

At once, Anna pointed at the poster which dragged her all the way from a quiet, rural existence to the Windy City:

CASTING: YOUNG WOMEN WANTED! EARLY 20S. FOR AN UPCOMING FILM PRODUCTION! BRUNETTES PREFERRED.

"Please Sir, I didn't mean to be late, I swear," Anna pleaded, "the train from Springfield took way too long-"

"Closed, miss," he snarled, "they're headed 'ome-"

"It wouldn't hurt you for just one more!" Anna begged, hands clasped before him.

One look at the girl, and his hand hesitated on the lock.

"Fine, I don't think it'd take that long for them to reject a redhead," he muttered, pointing at the "BRUNETTES PREFERRED" phrase.

At once, Anna swept into the theatre, and her breath was immediately stolen by the vastness of the interiors. The dim lights only served to accentuate the theatre's grandeur: velvet curtains and glittering chandeliers overhanging the immense array of empty leather seats. She paused, eyes widened at the splendour of her opulent surroundings, and for the first time in forever, wondered if she was truly out of her depth. Still - the girl quickened her footsteps towards the three solitary figures seated on the first row, who were already compiling notes from the day's auditions. The director heard Anna's footsteps clomping on the carpet before he saw her.

"A little late, aren't you?" Kristoff announced, barely looking up from his notes, "Last one left nearly an hour ago-"

Exasperated, and with her hair unkempt from the wind, Anna pondered pleading one last time, before a faint spark of an idea glimmered in her brain. She recalled the casting notes, and stood a foot away from his desk, hands on her hips.

"Well, I ain't come this far for nothing, sugar," Anna drawled, in the best southern accent she could muster.

Kristoff looked up from the papers. Anna pouted her lips, and struck an awkward pose.

"The accent might save you," Kristoff remarked, removing his glasses and handing her a script, "but the hair colour won't-"

A flicker of desperation ignited within her again, but Anna pushed that feeling down into the pits of her soul.

"Well if you're looking for a gal' with some fire in her step, a redhead's your way to go-"

Kristoff sniggered, taking in all of Anna's diminutive figure clad in her loose fitting green dress. None of the other actresses spoke like this, and Anna's turquoise eyes shone with a brilliance that told a story of every struggle she put up with up until this moment. She needed this.

"Please read from the script," Kristoff requested, "and you can tone down the accent."

Anna took one last look at the words, neatly typewritten on a creased bit of parchment roughly handled by the dozen actresses who had already come and gone. Her grip faltered, before the paper drifted to the carpet, and as she watched it descend - felt every trace of her rural upbringing floating away. In the austere silence that followed, she felt the gaze of the casting directors burning into her naked flesh, and with them - the hopes and dreams of her family. Years of farmwork and waiting tables and rejection after rejection had led to this.

"Time for you to stop acting," Anna thought, as she trotted to her starting position. The first lines fell from her lips without effort, and then another, and another. Five lines in, and Anna forgot she was auditioning. The world of the scene engulfed her whole as she filled in lines which slipped from her memory. Kristoff stared at Anna as the entire script played out before him; the pen dropped from his fingertips - and he neglected to pick it up. Even the gruff janitor from earlier watched by the alleyways.

Kristoff held his unwavering gaze at Anna, long after she'd finished her last line.

"I-I, h-have," Kristoff stammered, "h-have you done this before?"

Anna relaxed her shoulders, before taking a full minute to shed the veil the scene had pulled over her eyes. It took a few tries to return to her natural accent.

"No sir," Anna answered, hands clasped before herself, "I-I mean I've tried out a few times."

"Who on earth would reject- I mean, what did you do differently, this time?"

Anna bit down her lip, as a multitude of failed auditions flew through her memory. All of a sudden, she was six again. Staring at that old TV set at the Hoopers' home, the only family in their community which had one. The grainy black-and-white images depicting lovers caught in a melodrama. Even as a child, she knew it was a work of fiction, that the people acting out their lines were humans doing it for a living. And yet, the images pulled her away to another glitzy world as far away from her farm as the moon was to the earth.

Fiddling with her dress, Anna's lips curled into a sheepish grin. That solitary thought from earlier floated to her again.

"I stopped acting."