Chapter 12
Chapter – 12
Henry Schofield, bringing Benvolio to life onstage, lurched off the platform, his clothes soaked through with perspiration.
His breaths came in ragged bursts.
Before this, he’d scraped by as the least skilled helper in the kitchens of Rudy’s Night Tavern.
That changed when Rudy barged inside, his features contorted in clear disgust.
Lady Luisa craved an unusual breed—tender-hearted, unspoiled, utterly charming fellows who seemed strangers to hard labor. And she expected Rudy to dig them up from this grimy backroom?
Exhaustion had nearly broken Rudy after chasing down every prospect she described.
A sharp crash shattered the moment right before him.
Clatter!
“Oh no! P-please forgive me! I’ll clean it up immediately, sir!”
Henry Schofield had just fumbled an empty wooden cask on his way through the door.
He explained that his family had thrived on a solid enterprise until the Duchy’s destruction at the hands of House Mesena wiped it all away. Now orphaned from prosperity, he faced kitchen duties for the very first time.
Clumsiness defined him there.
The lead cook kept urging Rudy to dismiss him outright. Yet in these shattered days since the Duchy crumbled, replacements proved elusive.
With a weary exhale, Rudy hoisted the cask—then halted abruptly.
His eyes fixed on Henry, who bent low in panic like a cornered creature. The cask slipped from Rudy’s grasp once more.
“Oi.”
“Y-yes, sir?”
“You’ve got quite the face on you.”
That exchange sealed Henry Schofield’s unexpected entry into the cast.
His fellow recruits shared a single mindset at the outset.
Win over the Lady. Claim her wealth.
Luisa Mesena.
In Henry’s world, she embodied the Duchy’s wildest scandal—a noble whose reputation stained every corner of his existence.
Whispers painted her obsession with striking features perfectly.
Her casting call skipped trained performers entirely, pulling in only the most captivating amateurs for her production.
Henry strained to avoid her stare entirely.
Desperation for funds to treat his ailing mother after his father’s passing had driven him to audition. Deep prejudice against performers lingered from his sire’s bitter words.
Vagabond entertainers. Clergy turned away from their gravesides.
Harsh reality backed those sentiments.
Holy Empire clerics denied actors proper rites. The realm reviled their craft outright.
Even the Saintess had condemned stagecraft as lewd, inflammatory, soul-poisoning.
A highborn woman directing her own spectacle?
Henry deemed her deranged.
Such doubts swirled as a bare-chested understudy sidled up to Luisa, flashing easy confidence.
“Ready for instructions?”
Nudity drew no reaction from her. She directed them to loosen up, then settled into a spectator’s chair, scribbling in her ledger.
Henry had stolen a look inside once. Scripts adhered to one page, cryptic directives on the facing leaf.
Subtext demands clarity. Illuminate now. Dissolve to dark.
It evoked a sorceress’s grimoire.
The backdrop explained that aura.
House Mesena’s fall left the country shrouded in despair and agitation.
Enterprises linked to the Duchy folded relentlessly. Ordinary lives teetered on ruin.
Blame first lashed at the Emperor.
Understandable fury.
Imperial refusal to settle the crown’s enormous debt to the Mesenas ignited the chain.
Official line claimed the Duke harbored rebel schemes.
A frail invalid scheming overthrow? Absurdity rang clear.
That flimsy charge toppled the faltering Duchy. Its lord perished amid the wreckage.
Henry’s father followed, crushed by financial ties severed in the catastrophe.
Universal scorn targeted the throne.
Whispers of a deliberate purge against House Mesena.
Shifts arrived with darker tales.
“Lavish Lady Mesena squandered it all!”
Pre-ruin, she allegedly snapped up gems rivaling the kingdom’s annual coffers.
Slander swelled.
She supposedly dragged youths to hidden chambers for unspeakable pleasures. Youth eternal from innocent vitae.
Outrage veered from the faceless sovereign toward this vivid, story-laden figure.
Far simpler to despise.
She’d liquidated the family’s scraps, dwelling in ease while funding entourages of admirers.
Precisely her current pursuit.
Henry reflected that the gossip rang authentic.
Luisa, propped with palm under jaw, raised her focus.
“Loosened those limbs yet?”
“Without question!”
Eagerness puzzled Henry from that responder.
Home called to him fiercely.
“Voice training commences.”
“…Pardon?”
The exposed performer deflated. Luisa brushed it off.
“Proceed.”
“Huh.”
“Amplify.”
“AAAH!”
Her ledger jabbed into his midsection.
“—ARRRGH!”
“Excellent form. Drive from deep within, ease the passage.”
She rose fluidly.
Eyes raked the group, chills erupting in their wake.
“Masterful portrayals lie beyond us all.”
Pity touched the seminude figure.
“Basic allure eludes you. Stage demands more.”
“…”
“Script’s genius will pierce ears regardless. Heed as we drill.”
One vault carried her atop the boards.
Sagging trousers, oversized tunic, locks haphazardly bound—Henry pondered her fabled hoards.
Reflection cut short.
Her intensity ignited the chorus.
Ahh.
Aaaaah.
Regimen gripped them daily thereafter. Sessions spanned dawn to dusk, leaving stares vacant by twilight.
Initial guidance covered positioning.
Far from rote patterns.
“Wander at will beyond this mark, advance precisely here. Utter those words front-facing.”
Lines fused with footwork in memory.
Lapses earned her icy verdict.
“Pathetic waste.”
No objects flew. No roars echoed. That murmur felled hardened souls to sobs.
Prospective paramours crumbled repeatedly.
Mornings summoned them back regardless.
Payments secured loyalty. Absconding meant Rudy’s relentless pursuit.
Perfection in recall prompted escalation.
“Repeat.”
Dread command launched.
“From top. Distraction kills it. Wrong inflections. Mumble nothing. Shun theatrics, melodies. Internalize.”
Henry questioned theatrical norms.
Stolen glimpses of shows revealed bombast, histrionics, feigned anguish.
Display ruled over evocation.
Luisa inverted that.
No mimicry lessons. Pure textual revelation.
“Benvolio sprang from privilege. Fierce guardian of domain. Feud evasion served favor above purity. Cease false nobility.”
Benvolio breathed as flesh.
“Highlight this syllable then?”
“Trust instinct. Own him fully.”
Bewilderment gripped Henry.
Ownership’s riddle.
Her fervor mystified.
Beauties surrounded her without delight. Grimaces accompanied barbs like “Abysmal sham.”
Sorceress yielded to implacable instructor.
“Beyond reach? Behold my version. Forge yours ideally—time starves, skill lacks, so imitate freely.”
Insult burned.
For Henry, she transformed—Benvolio emerged.
Witnesses etched the vision indelibly.
Cue partners succumbed unwittingly.
Amorous ambitions dissolved; Benvolio commanded vision.
Henry stirred.
Acting’s essence intrigued.
Unattainable craft now tempted pursuit.
He trailed her mastery, yet premiere loomed.
Backstage terror seized him.
Luisa drew close.
“Stage fright hitting you, Benvolio?”
“The crowd’s jeers haunt me already, milady.”
“Could happen.”
“…”
“Or avoided. Platforms unlock hidden prowess.”
“Is that so?”
“Certain souls thrive there.”
Arcane assurance.
“Lights and eyes ignite some—veins surge, pulse thunders, digits spark. Rehearsal depths unleash live.”
Her gaze caressed the void planks, tenderness surfacing uniquely.
“They persist. They claim it lasting.”
Henry decoded it amid first steps forward.
Quivers dissolved.
Muscles unwound.
Delivery solidified. Vocal path cleared. Reach soared.
Chiefly—
Total absorption dawned.
Gasping offstage, his stare devoured the expanse.
Return beckoned urgently.
Inferno kindled insatiable.
