Marrionetta, recently returned from her arduous walk in the woods, moaned and curled herself on the sette in her dressing room. The various plugs of endocrine tissue within her were fading out. As the cold swallow engulfed her, it left behind a hollowness that was was familiar and freshly unbearable.
Her joints were all splintering. She pricked herself all over, leaving scratches on her unpolished surfaces.
There was a knock at the door. A female voice ventured, “Miss Mary?”
“Go away,” Marrionetta humidly breathed into the sette.
“Miss Mary?” they hadn’t heard her.
Marrionetta rallied herself and rasped, “Go away!”
There was a pause at the door. “It’s Violet.”
Violet, Marrionetta thought. She had meant to see Violet’s elephant show but hadn’t quite gotten around to it in the depths of her lolligag. Hadn’t she thrown jam jars at that poor girl? She had impressive posture, Marrionetta remembered. She liked that. Not all the dancers cared about their appearance the way Violet did. Most of them slouched around, smoking like chimneys, obscening their ways into various pairs of trousers. Violet was a bit more walled off. Discrete, maybe.
Marrionetta’s stomach churned and she puked quietly on the floor. She wiped her mouth and took a long, hard look at her reflection across the room in the vanity mirror.
At last, Marrionetta croaked “It’s open.”