I lurk in the shadows backstage, my bony fingers lightly gripping the edge of an invisible curtain, watching you intently. You play your part in my carefully woven script, each movement a dance I anticipated, yet haven’t fully grasped. My gaze drifts to Josh and Rosalia—my puppets, my creations, brought to life in this performance. Deep within my hollow skull, thoughts hum: is it time to unveil the secrets I’ve long kept buried within my bones?

I look at you again. Our eyes meet—yours, alive and curious, against mine, burning with a cold, otherworldly light. A moment of tension hangs in the air, and I realize: it’s too late to turn back. My bones click softly as I sigh, beckoning you with a subtle, almost careless gesture. Without a word, I turn, my bare feet silently brushing the cold floor. Before me, a doorway materializes from the darkness, framed by flickering sparks that appear from nowhere.

You stand there, hesitating, your eyes darting between Josh and Rosalia, frozen in their roles, and this mysterious door. I sense your indecision but don’t look back—I know you’ll follow. And you do. One step, then another. You cross the threshold, and the door shuts behind you with a soft, ominous click. Darkness engulfs you, thick and impenetrable, like a velvet curtain.

“Why do you think I chose the form of a skeleton?” my voice echoes from all directions, reverberating in the void like the whisper of a thousand ghosts. I give you a moment to ponder the question, then add with a hint of mockery, “Alright, I’ll give you a clue...”

Suddenly, a dim, bluish light flickers behind you, cold as distant stars. You turn—and see her. A towering figure draped in a flowing black cloak, like liquid shadow. In her hand, a scythe, its blade glinting in the light. Instead of a face, a bare skull, its empty eye sockets seemingly bottomless. The figure stands motionless, exuding a chill that pierces to the bone.

Then, she vanishes, dissolving into the darkness as if she never existed. But you hear footsteps—slow, deliberate, approaching from where she stood. My voice cuts through the silence again, now closer, laced with bitter contemplation:

“I’ve thought about death far too much...” I step slowly into the light, my bones faintly creaking with each movement. “Too often... Too soon.”

I stop a few meters from you, my hollow eye sockets fixed on you. The moment stretches, heavy with silence that feels weightier than the darkness itself. I tilt my head, as if weighing what to say next. My fingers tap lightly against my thigh bone, producing a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound.

“I think...” I continue, my voice dropping to a near whisper, “I’ve said enough.”

With a sharp snap of my fingers, the world erupts in a blinding flash. The darkness scatters like a torn curtain. You find yourself standing where you paused, back in the heart of the scene I crafted, with Josh and Rosalia. They continue their performance, oblivious to what transpired. Your role resumes...