Morimens story · Psyche Deepdive
Passion to Dust
4 scenes, 283 lines
1. Serendipitous Flames, before the fight
47 linesUn, deux, trois. Un, deux, trois... Very well. Neat and elegant!
The strings and woodwinds murmur in the background, weaving with the rhythmic stomp of feet to form an orderly, graceful harmony, a dance of sound that stirs the soul.
What's going on...
Stirred from a deep sleep by the music, your limbs stretch instinctively, though your eyes remain unbearably heavy.
Your lids press together tight, no matter what, they refuse to part. Not even a sliver of light slips through.
Ugh... This feeling... Someone else's dream, again...
Amid the deafening music, you gradually regain control of your body. But just as your eyes begin to sense the light, your limbs freeze.
Great job, girls. Keep the rhythm steady, hey! Stay focused!
The sharp-tongued man barks at you, dazed, flailing awkwardly beneath the spotlight.
The girls around you spin like swans, every movement graceful and in sync, their poise a dance in itself.
But someone moves like a wild duck among swans. You are that unfortunate someone.
You quickly realise this is a dancer's body, but it remembers nothing. Even standing feels unsteady, let alone recalling the intricate steps.
Always a handful... Living up to your reputation as our "prima ballerina."
The prima ballerina? That's... me?
No one answers. The dancers glide past without pause, until an elbow knocks into you.
You stagger two steps, lose the rhythm, and are shunted to the edge of the stage. But there is no escaping the critical stares from below...
There are no rows of seats beneath the stage. Just pairs of tables and chairs arranged across an open floor.
Tasselled silk tablecloths shimmer beneath scattered jewels; the masked audience's faces glow eerily under the lights.
What's wrong with that kid in front? A misstep?
Hmph... They don't care about dance. Don't you get what kind of people they are?
True. Ah, that body really is...
These people aren't just ordinary spectators...
What are you standing around for?
A pampered, plump hand yanks your bare arm, pulling you into the shadows behind the curtain.
You nearly ruined everything! This is the final rehearsal before the real show! What were you thinking?!
Sorry, I, I...
The music crashes in waves against your ears, vision dimming with every beat. The dance steps vanish into fog. His tug gives you a chance, you try to leave the stage...
Don't move. I need someone to balance the formation when I go on. Go to the back left and fill the gap. Mirror my steps.
He's shoved aside, replaced by a slender, pale hand pulling you forward. In his startled eyes: surprise... then delight.
The newcomer's steps are light and sure, gently parting the disjointed group, guiding you into formation.
The dancers glance at each other but say nothing. They merely scoff, lower their heads, and resume the dance.
Quick! Spotlight on her! Elizabeth has returned to the stage! First appearance in three months!
Elizabeth?
You mouth the familiar name, straining to catch a glimpse of the girl who dragged you into the light.
You lift your eyes, and a burst of searing flash from the balcony blinds you.
When your sight clears, she's already leapt to the front.
The dancers part, leaving room for her sweeping gown. On this modest stage, she is the only star, a mesmerizing witch at the heart of it all.
That's Elizabeth, the Yadri Dance Troupe's star performer... She's stunning.
Manager, I thought Miss Elizabeth was unwell. Wasn't she out of this show?
Ladies and Gentlemen, our beloved Elizabeth presents you... a surprise performance! Yes, a surprise!
Though ailing, as the production's director, she won't let a single misstep mar the stage!
The Troupe Manager puffs out his chest, his gaze scanning like a strutting rooster.
The dancer's pointe shoes thud like drums. You look up, and cold green eyes meet yours.
Your body reacts instantly, threat pulsing through every limb. Within two beats, you've rejoined the formation.
You've got it... Good.
Be a leaf on the tree. Hide from their gaze.
Never let those filthy eyes... find you again.
2. Burning Ice, before the fight
89 linesHuff... Huff... Finally, it's over.
The music ends. You freeze, holding your pose alongside the others, ready for thunderous applause.
But only hushed whispers rise from below.
...Price...?
What's the rush? Anyway... performance... auction...
Before you can make out the guests' words, the curtain descends, cutting stage from audience like night from day.
So beautiful... the real ending to "Swan Elegy"... If she hadn't stepped in, I can't imagine...
To our rescue? You're giving her too much credit! If she hadn't walked off, we wouldn't have needed to replace her with a half-baked lead...
Walked off? Half-baked?
This body you currently inhabit still won't answer your questions. Her memories lie hidden in some unknown corner.
You push through the crowd of dancers chattering like excited birds, reaching toward the girl who's turning to leave.
Liz, where are you going?
That's right. Liz.
The black-clad dancer who saved you is none other than Liz, the Awakener you know.
This dream belongs to her. The girl who always locks herself in Mythag's dancing studio.
...
Liz turns, her lips twitching as if to speak...
Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth. I knew you couldn't leave the stage behind...
The Troupe Manager squeezes in beside her with a oily grin, his voice almost grovelling.
Liz gracefully steps back, like a butterfly fluttering out of his reach.
No one dares to stop her. They can only watch as she disappears down the passage. The manager's smile freezes, then curdles.
Putting on airs? Tch! I would've had my way with that little bitch if it weren't for...
What're you staring at?! Get ready for the next dance! Upset those lords and you'll be the ones paying!
The girls flinch, but in the end none dares to protest. They all obediently climb down and return to formation.
And you. What was your name again...? Never mind, it's not important.
The manager picks a beautiful dancer with a lazy flick of his finger. She steps forward with an overjoyed smile.
Manager, I'm Caroline...
Caroline, Carol, doesn't matter. You're doing the curtain call.
At your age, you won't be on stage much longer. This is your last shot at stability.
Thanks, Manager!
He heaps insult upon insult, but she bows her head, dignity discarded at his feet. The scene is suffocating.
...But you can't stay here. You didn't come to someone's dream to become a ballet star.
Seizing the moment, you bow and try to vanish into the crowd.
Liz's backstage door is within reach, but a pudgy hand clamps onto your wrist and yanks you into the wings.
Aw, ow... Manager, you...
SLAP!
The blow rings in your ears. Your cheek flushes and swells instantly, pain blooming across your skin.
(Try to slap him back)
Dancers keep to a vegetarian diet and frail routines. Offstage, this body is weak.
But you are not. Even in dreams, your Awakeners can knock this creep flat...
Your fists clench, but you force the rising anger back down.
(Hold back your anger)
...No. It's not worth it. It wasn't your face anyway.
You are not the protagonist of this dream. Lashing out could sever your connection to its owner, maybe for good.
Do you even realise what you've done?! I named you prima ballerina, and you repay me by ruining a crucial rehearsal?!
Do you know how humiliating this is? You forgot your steps, nearly ruined our reputation!
Me? But if I'm the principal, then Liz...
Liz? Hah! If she hadn't quit, you'd never get a whiff of this title!
Quit... Liz was the original principle? Then why...
Too many questions! Get to your room, now!
The manager has lost his patience. He grabs you and shoves you into a cramped, dim room.
The door slams. He shouts from the other side:
Pray you remember Elizabeth's steps, or you'll be sold to the House of Bliss!
What... what kind of place is that?
Click.
The lock turns coldly. You know you won't get a response tonight. He's gone.
Oily bastard! May you spend the night stuck on the toilet!
You kick the door in frustration. The ancient wood doesn't budge and remains silently wedged in the doorframe.
Hngh!
You overestimated the strength of pointe shoes. A piercing pain shoots through your big toe, as if the nail bed had been flipped by your kick.
You yelp, tumble onto the bed, curl up and whimper.
Someone knocks on the window.
You hadn't locked it. The visitor climbs in with ease.
So fierce most of the time, yet all tongue-tied when scolding someone?
She stands by the bed, leaning over with hands behind her back. Her ash-grey hair brushes your cheek.
Liz!
Shh. Quiet. The dorm wall is thin. When the music stops, the audience might hear.
She presses a chilled cloth to your cheek.
Ssss, Cold!
We were slapped on this side, right?
She sits and rolls the cloth gently across your face, your grimace twitching with every pass.
Ice cubes...? Where'd you get them?
From that old pig's private cellar.
Old pig? You mean the manager?, Ow, gentler!
It's midsummer, ice is rare. He'd never give it to you.
She presses harder.
I didn't ask. I took it.
Liz lets go, pulling you up to sit. She rummages through a simple ice pack and fishes out a small ice cube, placing it in your mouth.
A strange sweetness spreads with the cold, easing the burn on your face. You press the cloth back to your skin.
Did you skip the stage today because you overheard something?
What?
Her gaze hardens. She cups your cheeks and locks eyes with you.
Did you learn the truth about the troupe? Did the manager or agents force you to...
Anger and worry rise in her emerald eyes. Her palms grow colder than the ice.
You set the pack down and meet her gaze.
What about you, Liz? What did they force YOU to do?
She looks away uneasily, her eyes drawn to the starlight beyond the window.
The city sleeps; only the clatter of carriage wheels echoes in the street.
But those cruel, laughing voices pierce the wall, still lingering from the stage.
3. A Midsummer Night's Dream, before the fight
122 linesThrough a corridor, the whispers of people conversing in the theater could not be heard clearly. You only sensed that those sounds were tinged with disdainful and superior mockery.
...Don't listen to those voices.
Liz moved her hands up and gently covered your ears.
Weren't you always curious about the reason I quit the performance?
Then, in a soft, measured tone, through her hands, the deep voice made its way into your ears.
The Yadri Dance Troupe has a long history and is renowned throughout the Federation, often invited by nobles and even royal families... When I was very young, I had already heard of the troupe.
A year ago, on a midsummer's night, I ran away from home and joined the Yadri Dance Troupe.
a year ago
Elizabeth Salle... Salle, Salle, I remember this is the name of a royal dance troupe.
Yes, the founder of the Salle Dance Troupe was my grandfather.
Oh... I see. Elizabeth, can I call you Liz? Do you like dancing?
I really love dancing, sir. Just one look, and I can remember the steps. And when I was twelve, I choreographed an entire ballet.
Oh? You can choreograph dances too? How did the audience respond to it?
I'm sorry, Manager. My dance drama has never been staged. My parents always said they'd disown me if I kept dancing, and even my grandfather hit me several times because of it...
Didn't know that old man Salle was such a master of pretense...
Manager? Did you just say something?
Ahem... I'm saying, Old Salle really wasted your talent!
The manager circled Liz, sizing her up with a gaze as if she were a precious work of art.
Your arm muscles are more beautiful than any of the other girls in the group. They may be slender, but from your dance audition, they're definitely strong!
And the ratio of your waist to your legs... Liz, you're a born dancer! Hiding you and your talent at home is simply a desecration of art!
Do you mean that the Yadri Dance Troupe will accept me?
That's right! Absolutely. Not only will you join the dance troupe, but you'll also become the new principal, my new star! Your ballet, it'll have its premiere at the largest theater in Londinium!
The new principal? But if I were to become the principal, what about Miss Deneuve, the current prima ballerina of the troupe... I've heard she's especially proud and exceptionally skilled...
Now we have you, and that's what matters! Sign this contract to join the group, and I guarantee I can make you an A-list star!
The manager held Liz's hand, and the latter, filled with joy and resolve, solemnly signed her name on the paper.
And the girls' eyes, filled with either disdain or pity, were all taken by her as jealousy of her recognition.
Three Months ago
The last whip turn. Un, deux, trois, well done.
Liz's forehead broke out in a cold sweat from the tension. Only after the dancers accurately completed their moves did Liz finally let out a sigh of relief, smiling at the performers she'd worked with day and night.
Great... Amazing! Just half a scene left, and my "Swan Elegy" will be complete.
Liz wanted to hold the dancers' hands and hug the girls, but they sidestepped one by one to avoid her enthusiasm.
Everyone... what's wrong? Just a bit more effort, and we can bring "Swan Elegy" to the stage next month.
Oh... sorry, I got carried away. Thanks to everyone, "Swan Elegy" could be born; it's the collective creation of our Yadri Dance Troupe...
Enough, Liz! We've put up with it for so long, and that manager is just...
Stop talking! Think about Deneuve's fate!
Another dancer held her anxious friend. The first dancer showed a look of lingering fear as her gaze darted around.
Miss Deneuve's... fate? The manager said she retired to go home and take care of the elderly... Didn't she?
Taking care of the elderly, huh? The place the manager chose for her is indeed a good one; Count Geoffrey is very old, after all.
I guess he truly dotes on Deneuve, choosing only elderly gentlemen with one foot in the grave for her... Perhaps it won't be long before she gets a huge inheritance and travels the world.
Hey! Didn't the manager explicitly tell us not to mention this to her!
For the sake of your genuine love for dance, leave the dance troupe. I can only say so much.
Shh, don't say anything! Quickly hide backstage, the manager's here!
The sound of leather shoes echoed from the other side of the stage, and dancers with closer ties quickly pushed each other backstage, leaving Liz alone under the spotlight.
She received a long and grand applause: from the manager who brought her into the dance troupe. His eyes shone with what could only be described as a fanatical light, making Liz feel a slight discomfort.
Liz, you're a true genius. This ballet will elevate the company, and your value, to unparalleled heights!
My... value?
Count Geoffrey is willing to cover the dance troupe's operating costs for three months just to meet you. This is fantastic news.
Manager, I don't understand... Who is this Count? Why would he go to such lengths for me?
Count Geoffrey is our troupe's greatest benefactor. He highly values talented dancers.
Listen to me, the Countess passed away unexpectedly ten days ago. This is your perfect opportunity.
Count Geoffrey...
Stop talking! Think about Deneuve's fate!
Miss Deneuve's... fate? The manager said she retired to go home and take care of the elderly... Didn't she?
Taking care of the elderly, huh? The place the manager chose for her is indeed a good one; Count Geoffrey is very old, after all.
I guess he truly dotes on Deneuve, choosing only elderly gentlemen with one foot in the grave for her... Perhaps it won't be long before she gets a huge inheritance and travels the world.
The late Count's wife was Miss Deneuve, the former principal, correct?
...Who told you that?
Manager, please be honest with me. "A meeting with the Count"... Is it really that simple?
Liz stared intently at the paunchy manager, her gaze intense, causing him to instinctively turn his head away from her eyes.
Tell me, did you sell Miss Deneuve to Count Geoffrey?
Sell?
Seeming to have caught a loophole in Liz's words, the manager gained confidence, puffed out his chest, and spoke with certainty.
Deneuve married the Count of her own free will! As for what happened after their marriage, that's not something a lowly Dance Group Manager like me can casually comment on, they are nobles!
...
So, the dance troupe has always been your tool for seeking fame and recognition, a ladder to curry favor with the powerful...
Yeah. Right!
Do you know how the audience sees us, how they see you? The poor look up to you, while the rich are all choosing you! Look around the continent, every troupe is the same.
My family isn't! They're also members of the dance troupe, they...
Old Salle really wove a beautiful dream for you. You know nothing of the dealings of the Salle Dance Troupe? Your grandfather was the most notorious pimp in the entire Constante Federation!
Are you with me now? In this world, there's no such thing as pure art!
The contract you signed when you joined proves I have full control over you, so you can't go anywhere until you're willing to "see" the Count!
Alright, I won't leave the theater.
I'll give you credit for knowing when to back down, as long as you...
But as a result, I will not continue participating in the rehearsals of "Swan Elegy." I won't teach you the steps of the final act.
You!
I won't let you continue to tarnish my work; it won't be your tool for dealing with the nobility.
I want to quit the performance.
Now
The harsh reality makes you sweat and makes your scalp tingle. The ice pack in your hand melts away unnoticed, the water running down your arm and soaking through your dance dress.
Actually, the Dance Group Manager... is engaging in such activities.
You... haven't you realized their wickedness?
You're the new talent unearthed from the masses by that pig, just like me a year ago. I thought you'd discovered something too, and that was why you...
No, I was just really nervous...
Everything Liz said is swirling around in your head, and you instinctively want to believe her, but...
You glanced at the calendar by the bed; this dream was very close to your "reality." Less than thirty years ago. Elizabeth Salle was alive.
In your time, ballet performances were absolutely elegant occasions. Under Lord Dexter's patronage, you accompanied Ramona to several shows by different companies.
If the dance troupes used to be so corrupt, what led to such a drastic change?
But why did you go on stage to save the show tonight? I mean, since you've already walked off...
Liz looked up at you, like an elder looking at a silly child, despite being technically still a minor.
Because I can't bring myself to.
Before I learned to walk, I already knew how to swing my arms in ballet motions. While other children my age played hide-and-seek, I secretly practiced walking on tiptoe in the warehouse, and I was so happy.
I can't give up dancing, nor can I let go of my work... I can't bear to see the manager fill "Swan Elegy" with clumsy and vulgar steps.
He's using this to humiliate me... to humiliate my art.
Liz gripped your hands tighter and tighter, with such force that you felt like you were about to dissolve into her pain.
At that moment, your soul seemed to understand her anger and sorrow, so did this body.
You blinked uncontrollably, tears clinging to your lashes, making the world before your eyes blurry.
You're crying...
Liz abruptly moved closer to you, cupping your face with her hands and wiping away the fallen tears with her thumbs.
This means you agree with me, right?
The gray-green eyes were inches away, and this time you clearly saw the struggle and pain within them. She waited for you almost desperately, waiting for your positive answer.
...Yes. You're absolutely right.
You recall the conversation with Liz in the archives of Mythag University.
Dancing... should be pure. A true dancer should express their heart through their steps, not just their body.
Liz's eyes lit up, her joy clear to see.
Help you? Liz, do you have any plans?
I don't want their evil to keep spreading... I will end it here. With my own hands.
Okay. I'll help you. What do I need to do?
Liz touched your face, her tone softening, with a touch of sadness and guilt in her eyes.
The manager is wary of me; he definitely won't believe I'd step on stage...
She picked up the cloth of the makeshift ice pack with two fingers; most of the ice had melted, and the fabric was so wet it could be wrung out.
A wave of unexpected drowsiness suddenly washed over him, even his breath was caught in his throat...
Liz... Elizabeth... What have you done...
You're the principal he picked. He'd only turn to me if you were absent...
Liz covered your mouth and nose with a cloth, and a sweet, familiar yet uncomfortable scent spread through your nostrils.
The ice... it's laced...
...I can't believe you managed to bite down on that ice cube for so long. It finally melted.
You'll be fine. I've seen the manager use this drug to make "unruly girls" comply... It's just like a deep sleep.
That's right, after waking up, everything will come to an end...
4. Swan's Elegy, before the fight
25 linesCrackle.
Holding your head, you wake slowly. You don't know how much time has passed; it's still night outside the window. It might have been just half an hour, or it could have been an entire day.
It's the smell of highly concentrated ether... The manager actually froze such a dangerous substance in ice blocks.
...
Liz fed me ice cubes as soon as I came in, so... no matter how I ended up answering her, she had already decided to spike my drink from the very beginning...
Elizabeth Salle. Liz... What do you really want to do?
Crackle.
A primitive, charred natural aroma invades your nostrils, rushing into the depths of your brain and forcefully displacing the lingering effects of the medication.
What is this smell... It's so familiar.
The moment your hand touches the door, you feel the heat permeating the backstage corridor, and wisps of smoke seep into the room through the cracks.
Is it fire?!
Common sense tells you that the room's door won't hold for long. If the structure of this theater is just simple wood, the entire building will soon be engulfed in flames.
To leave the room, but not through the door, your gaze shifts to the only window. If Liz could have climbed in through the window... then so can you.
Sure enough, a carriage is parked below the window. You climb out and step onto the carriage roof, easily leaving the second-story room.
You follow the sound to the front square of the theater. The square is filled with a chaos of voices, and guests dressed in fine attire jostle one another in their rush to escape the theater...
Get out of my way! I am the butler of Count Geoffrey. Let me through first!
She's gone mad! She's lost her mind!
You quickly grab the noble lady whose bun had come undone from running so fast.
Excuse me, what happened in the theater?
You're a dancer?! Don't touch me! You're with that lunatic from the Second Theater, aren't you?
Second Theater... is it Liz? Could it be Elizabeth? The girl in the black dance dress?
You know that madwoman! And you claim you're not her accomplice! Someone beat that dancer to death for me!
The lackeys and some onlookers exchange glances, clearly unwilling to break the law for the noble's sake.
I'll give 100 Leonian Florin to the first person who cuts off a head! No, make it 300!
A large sum of money is flung at the trembling laborers, driving them to raise their tools and charge at you...