Dear Anna,
I do apologise for my abrupt departure last night. Everything's being done to ensure you get a seat at the opening. Afterall, this would've been one film out of many, but your performance transformed it into something special - both for the audience and myself.
It is my hope you'll never have to pay the price for a life of fame, one I never asked for, and one you had the unfortunate chance to witness.
-With much love,
Elsa Sheridan
P.S. I snuck into the prop room and stole the lockets. This one's yours. I hope you'll be glad to know I kept mine.
Anna's fingers danced across rows of puff pastry triangles. Folding chocolate batonnets into the croissant dough, her hands froze up as she reached the last one for today.
"You're all done," a voice floats into her ears, before taking on a menacing tone, "you're finished."
The voice struck her in the gut, and she staggered backwards. She clutched the marble countertop for support, but the voice came again.
"It's all over for you now!"
Her throat closed in terror, only managing to gasp out, "Oaken-" as she begged for someone to save her. Beneath the harsh confectionery lights, rows of unbaked chocolate croissants appeared as a theatre audience mocking and jeering her every move. She screwed her eyes shut, only to watch in horror as Elsa's face was yanked away with such velocity, her clothes caught fire and razed her into ashes.
"Help me," Anna croaked. Her hands pressed to her chest, she tried to calm the rapid heaving within her, and found her fingers closing around the hard silver locket she'd strung around her neck. At once, Anna's breathing steadied. She pulled the jewellery away, and gazed upon the photograph of Elsa and herself tucked away within.
"Breathe, breathe, breathe," Anna whimpered. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she fought off the urge to cry at work. The realisation of what just happened sank into her belly like a lead weight. In the corner of her eye she noticed a half-eaten croissant, flaky pastry crumbling like her sanity threatening to unravel itself. Her head went into a tailspin. Edging backwards, she upset an empty mixing bowl, the clanging metal sending Oaken rushing into the prep room.
"A-are you ok?" Oaken asked, noticing her ghostly pale face, "Do you need some Schnapps? It helped the last time-"
"I'm fine," Anna answered, gritting her teeth and clutching at her apron, "I'm done with the croissants, sir."
Oaken remained silent as he popped the tray of chocolate croissants into the oven, keeping an eye on the girl as she left the room. Out of instinct, she reached for a bottle of Schnapps behind the counter, cringing at the scorching alcohol racing through her insides, and with it - incinerating every trace of her last few minutes.
"How much longer can this last?" she thought. The thought of taking another glug disgusted her, and she went to find Oaken.
"Could I take a break to use the phone?" she asked. Oaken, engrossed with watching the croissants bake, flashed a thumb at her.
Anna paused on the porcelain telephone squirreled away at the front desk, where she'd take phone-in orders from across Hollywood. She dialed in the only number she'd committed to memory, and it took her several tries in her still-shaking voice, to repeat herself to the operator. In the eternal few seconds it took for an answer, she felt a tinge of regret at the path she'd chosen.
"Dad?"
"Anna? It's you - wait, let me get your mother." Agnarr replied, his voice hoarse like how she remembered, calling her for supper after a long day in the fields.
"No, wait, don't," Anna insisted. For the first time, there were no lines to rehearse, or a character to play. She was just Anna Miller, the daughter of farmers.
"D-did you get the cheque I sent?" Anna continued.
"Sweetie, for the love of Christ, you don't have to send us money. We're doing fine here. It must've been a huge film for you to send so much anyway-"
"It was," Anna answered, biting on her trembling lip, relieved at hearing that one voice who never judged her for anything, "I got to work with Elsa Sheridan-"
"Wait, what? Elsa Sheridan? Oh wow, you bet we'll be catching it in the theatres when they make it over here - god heavens above, my daughter and Elsa Sheridan-"
"Dad," Anna whispered, twirling the phone line around her thumb, "would you be mad at me if I asked to come back?"
"You're my daughter, you'll always be our daughter. The farm's big enough for a dozen of you," Agnarr sighed, "I'd only want to know why-"
Silence befell Anna, as the words "I don't know how much more of this I can take" teetered on the edge of her lips. It took an eternity for him to speak again.
"You never took our advice when you were a kid, that's just who you are, and that's what made you the woman you are today," Agnarr continued, "I don't expect you to listen much to us now, but I never took you for a person who gave up on your dreams."
