Ava understood instinctively what many people spent years figuring out, and most never mastered.
If you act like you belong, everyone will assume you do.
Even if you are an elf in a slinky black dress, hair dishevelled like she’d just escaped a localized hurricane.
Fortunately, this ease of belonging came easily to Ava. She couldn’t conceive of not being welcomed.
Charisma came in many forms, and the lovely curves of a blonde elf was one of them.
With a smile and a boatload of confidence,
Ava slipped through the chaos of the backstage, never lingering long enough to be questioned by the wandering stagehands or exhausted extras.
Ava’s heart still beat quickly with the excitement of the performance. The delight of the stage. The thrill of the song!
Its echoes vibrated in her palpably, and she couldn’t wait to meet the woman who’d so inspired her.
In the back of the stage, past the dressing rooms of the performers where powder and perfume hung in a pungent fog, Ava found a door with a star, the name Marilyn painted across it. Ava slipped up to it and knocked politely.
"Get in here."
Ava beamed and did as ordered, opening the door and stepping inside.
Mirrors glittered all around the room, several with huge dresses and silk gowns carelessly thrown over them.
Lamps glowed from the frame around a vanity in the corner, parked near a wardrobe whose contents were currently strewn about the room like a localized storm had just passed through.
Said storm was currently looking at herself in the mirror.
The Queen of Dawn, otherwise known as Marilyn Star, perused herself thoughtfully, one leg thrusting out of a thick pink dressing gown that draped her, the front opened, trim of fluttery white stroking her skin as she rolled her shoulders. Only a pair of black panties and a bra studded with diamonds hid her nakedness from Ava.
Gone was the mask, revealing Marilyn’s eyes, highlighted with dark ochre, lidded with malaise as she looked at herself.
Her hair was pale as snow and fell in ringlets around her neck, where the necklace hung to the valley of her breasts, the gemstone flickering.
The Queen of Dawn extended a hand without looking around, snapping her fingers. "The hat. The one with the feather."
Ava looked to a chair, where a pompous hat with a long brim hung. She picked it up and gave it to the starlet, who placed it on her head.
"Well? Were you satisfied with the show?" she sneered.
"Oh absolutely! It was lovely!" Ava gushed.
Marilyn blinked, then turned sharply to the elf. "Who the hell are you?"
"Ava Copperman!" Ava said, holding out a hand. "Reporter for the Morning Wood!"
"How did you get in here?"
Ava frowned with confusion. "You told me to come in."
"That was... I thought you were someone else."
"Ooooh! Your secret lover?" Ava said.
Marilyn’s start told Ava everything, but in the next instant it was gone, Marilyn’s eyes growing lidded once more. "Hm," she said. "Is that what you’re here for?"
"Then it’s true?" Ava said, fairly salivating over the salacious idea.
"And if I said it was? What would you do?"
"Ask for details of course!"
"And you expect me to tell you?"
"Um, I was kinda hoping you would."
A brief flicker of a smile hovered on Matilyn’s rouged lips. She crossed her arms, head tilted as she examined the elf. "You’re a strange woman, Ava Copperman."
"Thanks! I think," Ava said. "So about that lover..."
The door to the dressing room flew open, banging off the wall.
Ava jumped, spinning about at the disturbance as the prince from the performance strode in, tearing off the tattered jacket he’d worn for the finale.
Up close, Ava was surprised to see he was much lankier than he’d seemed before.
He wasn’t unhandsome, with his dark hair slicked back, his mouth thin and nose a little crooked, but hardly the heartthrob she’d seen on stage.
"Ha!" the man barked as he impatiently paced. "Did you see them? The crowd ate up my work! They’ll be telling every one of their friends about tonight! Sex, Marilyn. Sex always sells! People remember sex. Passion. Lust! Blood and sweat and cum! That’s what sells tickets!"
"How lovely for you, Iago," Marilyn said dryly.
"Don’t get snippy with me, woman! I..."
Iago trailed off, his eyes finally resting on Ava. "...Who is this?"
"Ava Copperman," Marilyn said with another wry smile. "A... fan."
Iago’s eyes snapped to the singer. "Fan?"
"Yes," Marilyn said. "She was very touched by my performance."
Iago snorted. "Little wonder. Well!" he said, drawing himself up regally. "Welcome, Miss Copperman! My name is Iago. I wrote the brilliant play you just bore witness to. Did you enjoy it?"
"Absolutely!" Ava said. "It was terrific!"
"Yes, it was, wasn’t it?" Iago grinned, stroking his stubble. "A brilliant piece of playwriting."
"It was really fascinating. Although it seemed a little inaccurate."
Iago’s smile twitched. "Inaccurate?" he said.
"Yes! I mean, I read up a lot on New Larrin’s history when I arrived in town. And I really learned a ton! But none of the history books mentioned the first king having another son. Or that he named that son as his true heir."
"Well, that’s..."
"Or that his first son and the future king was a hunchback who murdered his father."
"I-"
"Oh! But I did read about the two princes, and he didn’t seem to kill them. They’d actually died at the age of twenty in the Plague of the Frog, when that giant frog destroyed half the city. Really unfortunate."
"Yesssss," Iago interrupted curtly. "Well, aren’t you well read. What was it you said you did again?"
"I’m a reporter."
"Ah," Iago said. "Of course you are. Seeking the truth of today and all that, hm?"
"Yup! Isn’t it amazing!"
Iago’s smile grew icy. "Let me tell you about truths," he said. "A truth is whatever people believe. A lie makes it around the world a dozen times before a truth even puts its pants on. Did you ever hear about Alonso the Fat?"
"Um... He was the eighth king of New Larrin, right?"
"Right," Iago said. "That’s a fact. But was he fat? Who knows for sure. But that was what people called him, and so he was fat when him and everyone who ever knew him was dead and buried. Lies are the grease of history. No one has time to read up on facts, but lies are quick, seamless, slotting into the realities of the masses. And if everyone believes a lie, then it becomes truth. Doesn’t it?"
Ava furrowed her brow. "But... it isn’t true, is it?"
"As I said," Iago purred. "Truth is what is heard and believed. Why, if everyone believed that Marilyn was the princess of Shavar, wouldn’t that make it so?"
"Is she?"
"She is not."
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