She’s about to start crying.

This is always the awkward part. I’m never quite sure what to do. She’s sitting at the edge of the bed, still in her nightgown. She’s picking at the cuticles of her nails, but she’s looking dead at me. Tears have brimmed up on the bottom lid of her eyes. They’re a soft brown color, like when autumn has just broken into its full bloom, but long before it starts to die out. Her dark brown hair is disheveled around her shoulders, and she has her toes scrunched up in the rug.

It’s just past one in the morning. She woke up because she heard the door creak.

Her name is Isabella.

She’s just realized that she’s about to become a one night stand.

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There was rain today.

I saw it on the way in to the tents as I was ushered in, with people trying to hold umbrellas over my head to keep the moisture out; it wouldn’t do much good. The entire world seemed muggy and hazy this afternoon. Was would not be the correct word, though, because it is still raining, even now. I cannot see it falling, from my position in the backstage area, but I can hear it, and I can still smell it. The smell of sweets and spices from the surrounding marketplaces have been drowned out by that of warm, wet earth and fresh water as it falls from the sky. I can still hear people’s reaction to it as well. Workers are running in and out of the area outside of my door, yelling directions and orders at one another. Grab the line, don’t let the costumes get wet. Move this over a few feet, what in the Goddess’ name are you doing? On and on bark the calls, echoing down the halls to where I am now. Cast and crew alike are left wondering when the rain will let up.

Wondering if the rain will ever let up.

There is supposed to be a show today, but I’m not entirely certain that people will come now that the weather has gotten bad. No one is.

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