Poised. Cara’s skin tingled and vibrated with energy. Here she stood, in a village, in a world similar to hers in places. But she felt like a girl walking into the past. In an era before performance had become part of life. Of course, the Greeks had their own theatre and stories. But there had been a dark age. And what skies were darker than Noelictus’?

But she came from a world with thousands of years of development. Stories had been perfected or changed or rewritten—but the craft of some things remained.

That was the stage. That was the play. She had no idea why she was here, still. But she had survived the darkness, the dead. And she had sung to do it.

But she was more than a [Singer]. Now, the young woman stood in the open field. The sunlight, brief as it was, was her spotlight. The [Actress] held herself just so. Pitched her voice like this, so all could hear her enunciate.

“You may not know me, for I have arrived just yesterday. My name is Cara O’Sullivan, an [Actor] from Izril! Today, I would like to repay you your hospitality with a performance from my home.”

The villagers glanced at each other, leaning on their tools and staring at Cara. She walked back and forth.

“I am but a poor performer upon your stage for an hour. But allow me a moment’s grace; and I shall tell you stories of kings and tragedy, hubris and love!”

She flung one arm out. Violetta looked at her, eyes wide. Cara smiled at her, but she was turning, realizing she had to emote in every direction.

She had no props. No stage. No script. And no cast or makeup. But—Sir Ian Mckellen had done one man Shakespeare, damn it! She saw Idelt walking over to a bunch of children who had abandoned their job of making baskets to inch closer to her. She smiled—and then her face grew sober.

“All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages.”

The village of Landsmecht blinked as one. The girl stood there, speaking the words of a famous speech.

As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII. Cara spun on her heel, walking left now, looking around to catch people’s eyes. They were watching her, not working. She went on.

“At first, the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.

And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school.”

It was Shakespeare, a brilliant performance from a play. Cara saw the people tilting their heads, listening. She had watched a great actor from her world performing those very lines to thunderous applause.