"OH, THE HORROR," I shriek, the blade meeting my skin like Ocean Waves breathing hungrily against the shores, foaming like the teeth of a moonsdrunk howlbeast. I double over from the Wound, writhing from the Pain, duly incapacitated from an actress's Force. My final breath is one (⒈) of a striking testament; I am but a Soul Reaped from the Arable Plains of your Agency, and now you bear the fruits of my Undoing. My death is lawful. May yours be the same. CURTAINS CLOSE. (CROWD APPLAUSE) (CROWD MURMUR)