There was no curtain, no speech, just a wooden board separating the front stage from the preparation room. It was the first time a group of people performed a play on such a humble stage, and it was also their first formal performance in life.
"The story unfolds in the capital of a kingdom. In the outer city, there lives a beautiful and kind-hearted girl..." As the narration began, Irene slowly stepped onto the stage. She wore a dirty gray robe, her hair disheveled and tattered, and her face smeared with black ash.
Swinging the broom in her hand, she carefully swept the floor, bending down occasionally to wipe away stubborn stains with the hem of her robe.
After days of rehearsals, Irene had memorized the entire plot. The story was simple: a motherless woman endured abuse at home until she saved a Witch out of kindness. The Witch then used her Magic Power to send her to Prince's ball, where she fell head over heels for him at first sight. But with the Magic Power running out, she had to leave in a hurry, leaving behind a crystal slipper in her panic. Prince searched the entire city for the beautiful girl and eventually found her in the outer district. The two lived happily ever after.
The story is simple and easy to understand, and its plot breaks away from the typical portrayal of princesses and princes in love. Instead, it shows how a common woman wins the prince's favor by relying on her kindness and the witch's help. Cinderella, the protagonist, endures oppression with composure until she gathers the courage to rebel—a role that demands the actor's particular focus.
But to Irene's utter surprise, Mei unexpectedly offered her the lead role.
The mere thought of performing alongside her on the Westbound Star stage filled her with immense joy. As the cornerstone of the Fortress Theatre, Mei had every confidence to take on leading roles in any production. Yet in Cinderella, she chose to play the pivotal role of her half-sister.
Eileen was initially skeptical, but after the performer insisted it was a performance for newcomers, she finally agreed to take on the role of Cinderella.
During the subsequent rehearsals, she poured her heart into every scene, practicing relentlessly. Even after the candle went out, she persistently asked Mei, who shared her bed, to teach her acting techniques—just to honor her friend's heartfelt gesture.
Fortunately, Irene wasn't inexperienced. As she looked into the audience's eyes, she relaxed and recited the rehearsed lines one by one. So far, she felt confident and hadn't made any mistakes. When Roxie, the Witch, got nervous and forgot her lines, Irene even winked at her to encourage her.
"Let me share half of the porridge with you. Don't eat too fast—it's still hot." "Thank you for your kindness, little girl. I'll repay you." As Roxie limped backstage, the crowd burst into applause—relieving Irene. In a fortress theater, forgetting lines would be an unforgivable mistake. The Nobles would have booed the actor instead of applauding him.
And then, there was Mei.
This scene marks the first clash between the cruel elder sister and Cinderella. Under the elder sister's bullying and humiliation, the younger one can only respond with tears, hiding in the basement and weeping silently before her mother's portrait.
But when the opponent stood before her, Irene suddenly noticed the atmosphere on the field had shifted abruptly.
No longer the reserved theater star she once was during rehearsals, she had become the undisputed ruler of the stage. Her exalted divine bearing, perfectly timed gestures, and the unmasked contempt in her eyes all filled Irene with an overwhelming sense of oppression.
"Hey, who's this? You're not working in broad daylight, yet you're daydreaming?" "You wretched wretch nobody wants! Clean my dress right now!" "Stop fumbling! This is a formal banquet dress—you can't afford to mess it up!" Mei shoved her hard. Erin should have pretended to fall, but under the cold gaze of the other woman, she involuntarily took a few steps back, tripped herself, and fell to the ground with almost no cushioning. Her elbow hit the stage floor, sending a sharp, searing pain through her.
"Such a useless wretch..." Mei's gaze shifted away from her, and she walked to the center of the stage, facing the silent square and crowd, beginning her monologue.
"True to Miss May's reputation," Margery murmured in admiration, "she captured everyone's attention with just a few lines, bringing the character to life with such authenticity." "Hmm, impressive," Roland nodded, though he thought the actress might have gone too far. Her evident disgust and contempt for Eileen were so convincing that even the audience could sense her coldness. The emotional contagion was evident in the God-like reactions of the crowd... Yet she wasn't the lead. Eileen's otherwise decent performance lost its luster in her presence, and if this continued, the supporting role might overshadow the protagonist.
Eileen was a little dazed.
She knew she had to get up quickly. In her monologue, Mei expressed her longing for Prince and hinted that the court ball wouldn't last long, so she needed to leave before the scene transitioned. But the familiar feeling from her rehearsals was gone, and for the first time, Ailin found the stage utterly unfamiliar.
Is this your level?
Only when Mei finished her performance and walked past her, the fluttering skirt brushing against her face, did she turn back to God. Though God remained silent, Irene read the message in the cold gaze of the Star of the West. She knew Mei would never lift her up—these two were as incompatible as oil and water. Any attempt to reach out would ruin the entire act. Biting her lip, Irene felt the metallic taste of iron seep through her teeth as she watched Mei disappear behind the partition. She tried to crawl up and follow, but Gait and Sam had already sprinted up with props. Sam, taking advantage of the wooden barrel, whispered in her ear, "The next scene's still yours. Keep going, keep going!" Irene knew this was against the rules, but... she had already missed her chance to exit.
The audience witnessed a magical transformation: Cinderella sat motionless on stage, while the surroundings shifted from a living room to a basement. The elegant round table and wooden chairs were replaced by wine barrels and wicker baskets. The prop handlers moved back and forth, yet the girl remained in one pose, as if frozen in time.
The plot then unfolds with Cinderella trapped in the basement, where the Witch appears to rescue her. Not only does she grant Cinderella beautiful clothes, but also summons a carriage that can transport her directly to the palace.
"Remember, time only lasts until midnight. You must leave the palace before the Dragon Clock strikes. Otherwise, your clothes and carriage will vanish." "Ah... Yes. I understand. Thank you." Erin still lingered in bewilderment. She had once watched Mei's performances from behind the scenes, admiring the woman's effortless grace and radiant smile before a thousand spectators. But when she stood on stage facing this dazzling star, she finally grasped the depth of Mei's artistic mastery.
Is this the distance between stars and flowers?
After Rosa delivered her lines with a dry, expressionless delivery, the play reached its first climax: the court ball. To create the grandeur of a formal ball, the entire cast appeared—except for her and May. Gait, Sam, Rosa, and Tina all wore masks, transforming into other Noble dancers. The one who dressed up as Your Royal Highness was none other than her lover, Filling Hilt.