The air thins, cold and icy.
In the distance, the city lights of homes and buildings and shops hush and dim to nothing, like a candle blown out.
Stop this—
I can’t. I can’t stop it.
Darkness eclipses the moon above, a ceaseless night that falls in a blanket so thick, it muffles the screams in the distance. I see nothing except the dim golden halo of my own skin. I hear nothing except Sil calling out, presumably still for the Players to go inside.
Then the distinct clattering of Eleutheraen chains dropping to the marble.
Somewhere behind me, the Playhouse doors slam shut, and I’m alone.
Alone.
A hand grips my ankle, as if to contradict the thought, and it’s warm like the sun.
I hear words I can’t make out, but the voice belongs to Jude. I don’t understand what he’s saying. It almost sounds like another language, though it feels comforting. Familiar, in a distant way.
Even as the shouts dwindle, leaving only darkness, I stand still. Below me, Jude clings to my ankle, whispering something over and over.
I stand there—for a long time.
Until finally, I stop.
ACT III
Act III: Scene I
When daylight breaks, I’m in my dressing room.
We’re back in the District, according to my window. Though I don’t remember the Playhouse moving. I don’t even remember leaving the terrace. I’m standing but can’t shove off the feeling that I’ve just woken up and am not entirely certain how much time has passed.
Sil nervously eases into my room. I drop the window curtain back into place, and it’s stained. A golden substance drips at my fingertips, just like Jude’s had done.
Jude. He called out to me, right before it all happened.
To Riven. Not Alistaire.
Jude knows my name.
I stare out the window, trying to remember what happened. What I did andwhy.
But I’m less and less sure it was me at all.
“I thought you’d show up,” I say to Sil by way of greeting. He leaves the door open behind him long enough that I can see black-and-silver uniforms beyond it—people who donotbelong in the Playhouse.
“A moment, please—I thank you,” Sil says to them before shutting the door. “I’m glad you’re…awake.”
RIVEN: “They’re here for me.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. By the way Sil stares at me, I imagine I don’t look much like myself, either.
I caught a glance in the mirror earlier when I threw a sheet over it, just enough to see my pupils, blown out and bloodshot. The dull brown of my irises wholly devoured by a hungry gold that bleeds deep into the whites of my eyes and runs in dried trails down my face. The lifeless panes of my cheekbones jut out at sharp, unnatural angles, as if trying to tear through skin, which has flushed with a blush of color, less pallid. I’ve grown even taller somehow.
I look like one ofthem.A Player.
Sil steps closer and seems surprised when I don’t skitter back like a frightened animal like I always do. Instead, I charge forward, imprints of gold trailing beneath my feet.
RIVEN: “Something is happening to me.” It isn’t a question, and I’m not asking for an explanation. I just needed the words to be stated out loud. I don’t know who called down that horrible, ever-growing darkness. It came from my hands, but it wasnotme.
