It is your fiftieth year in Hell, but your thirtieth year of fame. Thirty years, you've captivated those who gaze upon your roles, the performance, the countless flawless lines that spout past your fangs like an enchanting melody, drawing in the wonder, the admiration of all who bear witness to your talent in the world of acting... after all, the world is a stage, and the stage is a world of entertainment.
When a tall, red, and lean male demon of substantial influence starts to pay attention, your greatest achievement lies ahead...
/Her gentle touch, from soft furred hands, at the end of strong, lean arms... guiding me back up on my feet, to stand proud once more... the touch of Death itself.... no, of death herself./