Acting for a play is never easy.
Adherence to a character's mannerisms, actions, beliefs, the small details, that become the large picture inlaid upon the actor.
To do such work, many things are a requirement.
But most heavily, is the believing of that they are the character.
A common man cannot be a royal king.
A royal king cannot be a common man.
Only imitation is the farthest they can go.
Actors, however, must go further. To switch between roles of a diversifying degree, they forcefully carve a spot in themselves to be that role.
Many scoff at their line of work.
Criticisms of beggars, traveling from place to place, with no fixed spot. Earning revenue with solely performance.
Yet despite that, they choose to go further.
Hence the caution that comes with the carving.
An unsettling corrosion of their way of thinking.
If they so choose a reckless endeavor of digging swiftly, the backlash of it will be much more severe.
Like a parasite, affecting painfully, and resisting fiercely.
A mind boggling consequence spreading across the inner head.
Some however, fail to realize the danger.
Most avoid it as best they can.
Little of the populace are inseparable from it.
Preceding the fall of the theocratic nation of Igrius, a lone young girl wandered the streets of a time full of worship.
Crimson whites, the stationary guard fulfilled the duty, the lambs, completed the work.
Overseered by their chosen savior.
Eyes full of dull silver.
The young girl came upon the traveler.
A bright smile uncaring of the dreary darkness.
"Why is it my fault?"
An answer was given from the smiling traveler.
A flooding of tears poured from her eyes.
The traveler left as the young girl was left there. A face made fully of white.
With the light up above, everything resumed again.
The dull blank look.
Caring not of who stares.
"Hey! Come back!"
A woman chased after the child.
Stopping and regaining her breath she asked the young girl who came out of the dark.
"N-No… b-but maybe they went…" she pointed at a bleaker darker place.
Alarmed, the woman quickly ran off.
"Thank you!"
The girl's shy face of kindness, crumbled as soon as the woman left.
"Why is it my fault?"
A sharp laughter echoed out of her. Over and over again.
"Where's the answer?" a big smile. Uncaring to any gazes.
As it continued, she stumbled upon the grumblings and resentment of kindled fire inside an argument of many people.
"This isn't what we agreed!"
"Bah. This, I told many times. It's never fixed."
Seething, gaining momentum until they just leave.
The girl watched.
"It was less last time…" a murmur far louder than it was meant to be. Dripping with contempt.
The merchant narrowed their eyes.
Insults, disappointment, anger, a gaining disgust sprouted around.
"Come here!"
The girl left.
A sour taste left in her mouth. Fueled by hatred of this inconvenience.
A smile miserably with tears united to display the emotion felt, but never real.
"Why is it my fault?"
A bored apathetic look, disinterested in everything.
As if flaunting everything inside.
"Is it really?" monotone and spewed as if to keep it up.
A shiver of pleasure shot up.
Euphoria bloomed on the young girl's bright face.
With each step, quivering as if the wind brushed past her.
With each night, a relishment of stained blood, put on another's hands.
A blooming of faces, gathering. Distorting every time they meet.
Yet the single question she asks.
With nothing found she walks more and more. Seeing the abundance of scenarios playing out.
The dark covering the land with only a dim light to guide, the young girl walks the street.
"Why is it my fault?"
She met the same traveler. They answered with that same face as before. Unchanging even after she returned to hear the calling.
"I already know."
Years of untold corrosion in the way she thought for each situation bred a gift for the divine.
Tainted in the whispers of insanity, with a corrupted mentality.
The puppet Alivia brought about a disastrous downfall.