'Till death do us part

The dance of death

In a small town nestled between rolling hills, the local theater, known for the high quality plays, was the heartbeat of the community. It was a place where everyones dreams came to life, and the ordinary transformed into the extraordinary.

Tonight, the grand stage was set for the premiere of "The Duelists' Dance," a play that combined drama, intrigue, and elaborate choreography.

The two lead roles were played by lifelong friends, Xander and Ryoma, whose onstage chemistry was electrifying. They had spent countless weeks, maybe even a month, rehearsing, perfecting their roles until every move was synchronized, every line delivered with precision. The centerpiece of the play was an intense dance sequence, a duel set to a hauntingly beautiful score.

As the curtains rose, the theater buzzed with anticipation. The shining lights dimmed, and the orchestra began to play the angelic music. Xander and Ryoma took their positions on the now darkened stage, their faces hidden by the shadows. The music danced in the atmosphere, and they began to dance, their movements a blend of aggression and grace.

The audience watched in awe as the two men seemed to dance for their lives, their bodies moving in perfect harmony with the rhythm. The choreography was intricate, each step a testament to their dedication and skill. They circled each other, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze, the tension palpable.

Suddenly, Ryoma made a misstep, or so it seemed. He stumbled, and Xander took the opportunity to lunge at him. The prop sword in Xander's hand glinted under the stage lights as he thrust it forward. Ryoma's eyes widened fully in shock and surprise, and for a moment, a look of genuine fear covered his face. The pointed blade collided into the delicate body of Ryoma, and he collapsed to the floor, his body limp.

The audience gasped, their breaths held in collective suspense. The music reached a crescendo, and then, silence. Xander stood over Ryoma's body, breathing heavily, his face a mask of shock and horror. But the audience were fooled, they believed it was all part of the act, the culmination of their breathtaking performance.

Applause erupted, a standing ovation for the seemingly flawless execution of the dramatic finale. The curtains fell, and Xander stumbled offstage, his mind racing. He knelt beside Ryoma, frantically checking for any signs of life. The truth hit him like a tidal wave—Edward was dead.

Xander grabbed the blood stained prop sword. His eyes quickly widened, his pupils shrinking. Time had stopped. The air was thick. All was silent...

His finger ran across the blade of the prop. Blood seeped out of his finger. This wasn't a prop. Some imbecile has replaced the harmless prop with a real one.

Backstage, the crew and cast gathered, their faces etched with concern. The director, unaware of the tragedy, congratulated Xander on his performance. But the poor boy couldn't speak; his voice choked with guilt and sorrow. He knew he had to tell the truth, no matter the cost.

After not even an hour, the police arrived. The theater, once a gathering of joy and dreams, was now a crime scene of blood and nightmares. Investigations immediately began, and the true nature of the incident slowly shifted into light. It was revealed that someone related to Ryoma had sabotaged the play, The exact culprit remained a mystery, their motives shrouded in darkness.

The town was left in shock, mourning the loss of the great actor Ryoma and grappling with the sinister turn of events. "The Duelists' Dance" would be remembered not for its artistic brilliance, but for the tragedy that unfolded on its stage. And Xander, haunted by the memory of that night, vowed never to set foot in that, or any other theater again, his heart forever scarred by the role he was destined to play...