Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝟏𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑
𝟏𝟎:𝟐𝟒 𝐀𝐌
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
Harry's brows furrowed into a bridge of frustration as the script of "The Changeling"—her forthcoming play—lay open before her, its pages fluttering restlessly in the aggravating breeze. For the sixth time, her eyes trudged wearily across the same line, the windblown words slipping through her mind's grasp with each attempt to capture them.
With an exasperated sigh, she shifted on the blanket spread under her, elbows digging into the fabric as she reached out blindly. Her fingers grasped her phone, and she slid it towards the edge of the paper to anchor it against the persistent gust.
As the garden grass poked at her exposed ankles, she glared down at the script through the eyeglasses perched precariously at the tip of her nose as if daring it to defy her once more. This time, she forced herself to slow down, to reread the line one word at a time and let each resonate in her brain.
For Harry, this production was the largest she'd ever been entrusted with, and calling the pressure high would be to vastly underestimate the mounting weight that bore down on her.
Her character Isabella was a vessel brimming with frustration, longing, and a carefully concealed desire that simmered beneath the chaos and manipulation that swirled around her, so truly giving life to her was not a rudimental task. Diligently, the young Scot embarked on a journey of exploration and experimentation, mapping out the emotional terrain she would need to traverse in order to do her character justice.
Her pen followed the path of her gaze, its tip dancing across the margins of the page in a flurry of coloured inks as she jotted down notes and cues, tiny directives for her future self.
She knew she had to get it right.
Not just for herself, not just for the audience, but for Isabella.
Isabella had to breathe, to feel, to exist in every moment, and Harry's duty was to ensure that she did.
Rehearsals were scheduled for her as soon as her month-long getaway concluded, so the preparation was crucial. The tranquillity of her aunt's home, with its crisp, serene air seemed the ideal backdrop for her creative process where she could delve into the depths of her role without interruption.
But that was before she learned how much of a distraction some people could be.
Just as Harry nudged her phone aside to turn to the next page, she felt a dull thud on her back. A whole baby carrot had plummeted down onto her like some errant piece of flotsam crashing into the still waters of her concentration. Before she could fully process this culinary assault, another followed suit, this time striking her square in the cheek with an indignantly loud smack.
