FREE USE in a Fantasy World

"She is not."

"Then no," Ava said.

"Why?" Iago said. "Because you, the press, found the fact is the opposite? My dear. There’s a reason the things printed in your pages are called ’stories’. A lie is merely a truth not repeated enough. People will believe what they are told, and want to be true. If facts happen to be inconveniently different, then they’ll be swept aside."

Ava stared at Iago, mouth open. Then, she burst into giggles.

Iago’s grin fell, his brows knitting. "What’s so funny?"

"It’s just... hee hee! You just sounded so earnest! I love it. But people aren’t that dumb."

"I think you’d be surprised how dumb people are," Iago said darkly. He smiled again, but his eyes glittered like glass. "But I have a wonderful idea. You’re writing a story on me, right?"

"Oh, actually-"

"Yes," Marilyn suddenly broke in. "She is. A story about the Queen of Dawn and her brilliant playwright."

Iago’s eyes flicked to Marilyn, back to Ava. "Is that right? How splendid. In that case, perhaps you would care to join in our performance as a chorus girl? We could always use such... lithe actors."

Ava gasped. "You mean it?" she said, clasping her hands together in excitement. "Really and truly? I could be a star? I mean, I acted in some of the fertility plays back home in the groves, but on the stage?"

"Of course," Iago purred, sidling closer, his eyes running up and down the elf’s body. "I think you’d make a delightful addition to the cast. Of course, we’d have to have an audition. Make sure you have the... flexibility to take part..."

"Oh, I’m very flexible!" Ava bounced excitedly. "I can do a handstand and a cartwheel and..."

"Can you now?" laughed Iago. "Do you hear that, Marilyn? The elf is very flexible. I think we should see that, Ava. Why don’t you show us your handstand!"

"Well, this dress is a bit... but, alright! I’ll do it!" Ava kicked a leg out behind her and dropped forward onto her hands, kicking the other leg up and inverting herself.

She balanced adeptly on her hands, her slinky black dress spilling up her body and revealing her stockings, garter, and the gusset of her panties. Her legs kicked a little to maintain her balance.

"Oh! How wonderful!" Iago laughed with cruel amusement.

"Whoops!" Ava cried as her ample bosoms made an escape from the neckline of her dress, exposing her pink areolas and soft nipples.

Ava’s face grew hot with embarrassment. It wasn’t that she minded anyone seeing her breasts, it was that she hadn’t intended it to happen.

She started to drop her legs back into place, but before she could, Iago grabbed her ankles, forcing her to remain in the handstand.

"Very good, don’t you think, Marilyn?" he asked. "Such ample... enthusiasm is just what we need in the chorus."

Ava could just make out Marilyn’s face in the mirror over her vanity. The beautiful actress winked an ochre-smeared eye at Ava and then said, "Yes, I think she would be a suitable addition."

"Yes, indeed," agreed Iago.

"But, I’m no singer," warned Ava.

"You are whatever I say you are," said Iago. "I am the playwright and the director of this show. If I say you are a chorus girl, then that is what you will be. Whatever reality I assert shall be supreme and the audience – and you, my dear – shall not dare to question."

"Oh, of course not, Mr. Iago," said Ava. "You must be a great playwright."

"You saw my work, didn’t you? The audience were my puppets!" He kept one hand on Ava’s ankles, but leaned his head down to look at her more closely. "And, are you willing to be whatever I command?"

"Um, I suppose so," said Ava. "But I’m a reporter first!"

Iago chuckled. "Of course you are. That’s why I want you to join us! To carry my story far and wide!" At last, Iago stepped back and helped her back to her feet.

Ava’s face was red from being upside down, her head spinning from the rush of blood.

He brushed her hair from her face, his eyes glittering with hunger as his gaze took in her bursting bodice and her curves. "I think I require another test before I decide for certain. If I know you are ready to be everything I need, then I will permit you to join my show. But if you displease me, well, I shall have to give my story..."

"Marilyn’s story," interjected Ava.

Iago waved with annoyance. "Yes, yes, the story. If you are not ready to perform, if you fail my final test, I shall have to give the story to another reporter. I am sure there are many who would love an intimate look behind the scenes of New Larrin’s most popular opera."

Ava was about to say something when she realized that her breasts were still hanging out of her bodice.

She tucked them back in and tightened the laces. She straightened up again as Iago looked at her with cold calculating eyes.

"Um, yes, Mr. Iago, sir," she said. "I understand. I promise to tell only the truth and share your story with everyone. But what’s the final test?"

"Yes, what’s that final test?" asked Marilyn, turning to look at Iago from beneath her furrowed brow.

"Never you mind, Marilyn," he said and his gazed flicked to the necklace she wore against her breasts.

The gemstone set within it flared for a moment and Marilyn’s expression trembled and dropped.

She turned away, pretending to study her makeup in the mirror once more.

Iago smirked and grabbed Ava’s arm. "Come with me, girl. I will demonstrate the new truth to you and teach you your lines."

Iago dragged Ava towards the door. She stumbled after him, torn by her duty as a reporter.

She still wanted to give Marilyn a thorough interview, but it seemed becoming a chorus girl was her best bet at getting to the bottom of the story.

"Good luck, Ava," Marilyn called, a hint of sympathy in her voice.

Iago dragged Ava through the backstage area, past crew members moving pieces of scenery and a line of comely chorus girls changing into different clothes.

They were unashamed to be naked, which seemed like such a rare trait for humans.

They barely even glanced at Ava as Iago walked her to the other end of the backstage area and up a narrow spiral staircase.

They emerged into a small room that occupied one of the World Theater’s castle-like turrets. A pair of small windows gazed out upon the stage below.

The rounded walls of the room made it seem smaller than it was, crowding a desk and a cot nearer to the center than they would have been in a normal room.

Iago pulled the chair out from the writing desk and sat at his pad of paper.

He drew a quill from an inkwell and set to writing something.

Ava waited nervously behind him, uncertain of what to do. She fidgeted and tried to come up with some way to ask him about Marilyn’s lover.

"Um, does Marilyn spend time with, um... I mean... what I’m actually here to write about—"

A loud ripping sound interrupted her. Iago turned the chair to face Ava and he held out a torn strip of paper.

"Read this aloud," he said, passing her the paper.

"Um, okay?" She took it from him and looked at his extravagant scrawl. It was sloppy, but also ostentatious, with ridiculous flourishes that made it almost illegible.

"Read!" commanded Iago, clapping his hands impatiently. He tried to soften his temper and added, "Please, my dear, I must hear that every woman knows how to read my lines."

"But... the chorus..." Ava saw that his anger was threatening to surface again. She began to read.

"My king," Ava began, "surely such an esteemed and regal man might choose any woman he pleased. Especially with such..." She squinted. "...girthiness?"

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