Your eyes snap open at the feeling of a cold hand upon the warm skin of your shoulder, yet when you spin around to find the source of this startling yet not entirely unwelcome touch you find that the row of seats directly behind you is empty. There are people further back, of course... rows upon rows of them but no one close enough to have reached out then moved out of view so quickly.

When your turn those gorgeous dark eyes back to the stage, the curtain is open once again and the second play has just begun.

Part 2
Marionnette de Diables

The light of a single lamp illuminates a long wooden table in the very center of the stage. At this table sits an old silver-haired man... a toy maker nearing the end of his life’s work. His pale blue eyes gaze down upon the beautiful marionette before him. She is his greatest creation. Carved of the finest oak that his meager wages could provide. With trembling hands, he whittles away with the most precise movements, adding the finishing touches to her face and then applying the paint in careful strokes of the tiniest brushes.

The soft melody played by the orchestra is barely audible, as though the slightest noise might disturb his work.

His tools are set down for the very last time. His creation is complete... years of effort have come to a close. He leans in to press his pale, thin lips to hers and draws his final breath. As his frail body falls to the floor beside the table hers begins to move. First her delicate wooden fingers then her arms. She raises herself up off the table and stands beside the corpse of the man who made her, glancing down at him with a look of cold disinterest. His life is over but hers has just begun.

She begins to dance around the room... her movements stiff and mechanical at first, but as the tempo of the music changes she becomes more accustomed to her wooden joints and limbs. She travels gracefully about the stage, her long hair flowing behind her like threads of golden silk. Aphrodite herself would envy such beauty.

There is a hushed murmur amongst the audience as they try to decide whether this perfect marionette is real or truly a life-sized puppet being moved by invisible stings from somewhere up above the red curtain.

Out into the night she goes, moving through the sleeping city in it’s very darkest hour. The melody is quicker now... a heated rhythm almost too fast to be played by human hands. The marionette races through the empty streets, spinning and twirling in a divine euphoria brought on by simply being alive. The lights behind the scrim brighten giving the appearance of crosses and tomb stones all around the stage. The gorgeous young puppet has danced herself into the cemetery. It is here that she finally comes to rest. Exhausted from the nights events, she lays down in the soft grass to sleep.

The lights dim and a dense fog rolls in. Is this smoke or some sort of fantastic stage magic? A lone wolf howls in the distance as a dark figure begins to emerge from the very ground itself. He steps forward from the grave, this revenant vampire... a creature of medieval tales. Long black hair is knotted and tangled about his face and his dark eyes shine like coal in a hearth. He thirsts for human blood and instantly spies the sleeping marionette. A smile tugs at the corners of his pale lips and his long, white fangs glisten in the lamp light.

He rushes over and scoops the wooden marionette into his arms, believing her to be the most alluring woman he has ever seen. And still she sleeps as peacefully as the corpses in the graves that surround them both. The vampire is puzzled yet entranced by this sleeping beauty. The lights are extinguished completely and when the torches are lit once again the scene has changed. He has carried the lovely puppet into a crypt beneath the cemetery. The painted backdrop appears to be made of stone and you can almost feel the change in atmosphere. The air suddenly seems damp and cold.

He gently places her upon a cold marble slab and watches in fascination. Never has he seen a creature of such perfection. His gaze moves over her flawless skin which looks human to him despite the fact that it has been carved from wood. Still thirsting, he leans in closer and tries to sink his fangs into her slender neck... only to discover that her skin is as hard as the stone upon which she lays and he cannot steal a single drop of her blood.

Night after night the vampire wakes with the setting of the sun to sit by her side in silent lamentation... and each evening he tries once again to drink her blood but always fails. He has fallen in love with the marionette and blinded by passion, he refuses to believe that she does not live.

Refusing to leave her side and unable to hunt, he grows weaker with each passing night until he finally perishes. The moment his body falls to the ground a shrill laughter pierces the silence. The marionette rises to her feet as if his death has quickened her a second time. She smiles wickedly and the orchestra strikes up a triumphant melody as she dances merrily on the vampire’s remains.

This wooden marvel is a thief of souls, you see. Her life is sustained by the death of others. From the old man who created her, she was only able to steal his last precious hours yet from this vampire... she has stolen eternity.

For a brief moment her coal black eyes fix upon you just before the curtain is drawn for the second intermission.