Page 59 of Specters & Spotlights

She always wore long sleeves. Always. But beneath them lay a whole language of ink: looping runes, knotwork sigils, constellations that hinted at long nights and older magic.

“They work together,” she continued, her voice steadier now. “Some shield me. Some let me sense things I wouldn’t otherwise feel. A few of them anchor me—so if something tries to pull, or… overwhelm me, I don’t get lost.”

Kevin hovered smugly in the corner, arms crossed, practically vibrating with glee. “You’d think they’ve never seen a walking grimoire before,” he whispered, barely loud enough for Elise to hear.

She hesitated a moment as she looked out at the sea of raptly attentive faces. “When a ghost realizes it’s been seen, it can react… strongly. These help me make sure that I’m still the one in control.”

“Wait,” said Avery, pointing with careful curiosity. “The cat?”

Elise followed her gaze. A small, smirking black cat curled around the bend of her elbow.

“That one’s just because I like cats,” she said with a shrug.

There was a soft ripple of amusement—gentle, warm, and blessedly normal. No one laughed at her. And in that moment, Elise felt… if not entirely safe, then at least… held. Like maybe this strange, haunted part of her could finally breathe a little.

Jen’s voice rang from the green room speaker: “Places for Act Two!”

The spell broke. The cast scattered, voices rising again, and Elise reached for the next wig with a steadier heart.

The show’s music was distant, more vibration than melody from her tucked-away wig station, like a heartbeat pulsing through plywood.

Somewhere above the din of backstage murmurs, the orchestra began to shift—strings rising with wistful tension. A refrain echoed, threaded with memory: a reprise of “Changed.” Darcy’s words rewritten in Elizabeth’s mind. That was her cue.

She was already on her feet before her mind fully caught up, her body registering the cue a split second before her brain. Elise bolted, her boots thudding softly against old linoleum and plywood, arriving breathless at the stage right wings. Gina spotted her from her place at the quick change station and visibly relaxed, tension melting from her shoulders. Elise gave a small wave of apology as she skidded into place.

The quick change was crisp and wordless. Lark didn’t meet her eyes, and Elise didn’t push. Still, her fingers were steady. Wig off, wig on. Zipper, snap, pin. Lark exhaled slowly, gaze fixed just beyond the curtain.

Then, with a nod, she was gone—vanishing into the final scene.

Elise lingered just beyond the wings, watching it unfold.

Fog curled across the stage floor, low and spectral. Rain fell like silver threads from the rigged pipes above, soaking Lark’s gown and carefully curled wig in a matter of seconds. It was gorgeous. It was ruinous. Elise winced—not for the performance, but for the craft undone by water. Then she let it go. That was theatre, after all. Art, offered up to be destroyed every night.

Elizabeth stood center stage, framed by the silhouette of the bridge.

Darcy stepped forward.

“You must know…”

The duet began—voices hesitant at first, then rising in tandem.

Darcy and Elizabeth moved across the stage in practiced harmony, their voices weaving together with a kind of aching grace. Elise stood in the shadows, fingers twitching at her sides, barely resisting the urge to mouth the words she knew by heart. Her pulse matched the tempo, watching them ascend the steps on the side of the bridge, and hit their mark at the exact center.

The kiss was staged, as always. An artful tilt, a hand gently cupping a jaw, no lips involved. And still, something in it shimmered.

And yet, Graham’s eyes found her just as the lights softened for the final tableau. Elise felt the blush rise before she could stop it. Ridiculous, she thought, but there it was.

“Well, look at you,” came a velvet voice right behind her ear.

She jumped. “Kevin!” she hissed, heart racing.

He raised an incorporeal eyebrow. “You’re learning how to believe in happy endings again.”

The applause had long faded, the dressing room doors soft with the sound of zippers and sighs. The wig corner sat still beneath the harsh glow of fluorescents—half-abandoned now, half-lit.

Lark didn’t appear after Elise removed her wig post-curtain call. Elise glanced once or twice toward Lark’s dressing room, expecting her to come for her usual pin curl assist—but it didn’t happen. Lark was tending to herself tonight, and Elise wasn’t sure if that was distance, healing, or something else entirely. Either way, she didn’t mind. It gave her space to breathe.

Jen appeared a few minutes later, her walk brisk but face drawn.