The audience always loved a good death, and poor little Ambrosine was always their favorite.
The sun burned brightly upon the heads of all who were to bear witness, waiting in eager anticipation. As the finale of clouds slowly caressed their way through the sky, the first act began, and the players did as they should; a mystery of murder, betrayal, and treachery in the highest degree. It was sad, yes, but the true tragedy was yet to come, and the citizens of the colosseum bit their nails with excitement.
The second act went by quickly, explaining only what needed to be so the finale could be held. At the end of the act, the melancholic Aniello, sat alone in silence, with no more a family left to steadfast the company of his woeful self. Oh, the agony he was to suffer, and had already; but Aniello had yet one duty left to fulfill.
The third act was all the people wished for, and with the opening of the final chapter came a crashing roar that filled the air. It was time, once more, for the event that brewed a lust in every man and woman’s bosom so deep that it had to have been seen, studied, over and over. Play after play. Thanatos was to appear on that desert ground one last time.
In she was slowly walked, as though a bride in disguise of her swiftly approaching death. Far was she from consensually being committed to such a fate, yet it was not of her choosing. No matter the strength of her kicks, nor the bellow of her voice, she was doomed. Her pastel-covered cheeks streamed red through her glass-like tears, of which their purity could only be matched to that of Olympus’s rivers, but seemed now only as impure and crimson as a diseased man’s blood.
There she was tied to the stake, facing the crowd of thousands with a face of disillusion and utter disparity. They cheered and screamed in joy as the final knot was threaded by the oh, so gracious Aniello. Ambrosine but shivered and weeped as the hero began his final speech; her final moments.
“It is none but you that are to blame.” Ambrosine’s body subtly quaked. “These heinous acts upon which you find your isolated happiness, are what have led this moment to you, sorceress.” She but only began a shout, before her short, weeping breaths caught her tongue. Aniello pulled out a knife at an alarming speed, gently pressing against Ambrosine’s throat, causing her to only quiver more, and with it came an intensity in her breath. “Joy is found in you when such things as murder, tyrannous treachery and betrayal; at only the mere age of fourteen.
“You are no Theios Aner, wretched coward. Forgotten, have you, the law of Plato, witch?” With the player of Aniello, there suddenly came an heir of confidence, as Ambrosine stared down upon him with such hope. “What have you to say for yourself?” he inquired, releasing the knife from her clawing breaths. This was not part of the playwright.
A moment passed, with Aniellos staring deeply in her eyes with a crooked smile. Swallowing that horrid fear in her throat, Ambrosine spoke only this once within the entirety of the play, with a somber, panicked, and quivering voice. “I am not of your concern, dweller,” she nigh whispered, in shock of all things.
“What is that of which the witch speaks? Is it of man?” A silence eerily crept into the air, before Ambrosine had felt the urge to talk again. This time it came louder. “Only is it that of Orpheus and Pythagoras’ kin may I speak with meaningfully. Thus, I am alone only until death, where might I find care.” She began now to bellow. “I shall become as they, omnipotent and omniscient with those that have been treated with the same fate as I within these now accursed walls.”
“Ah, b-” Aniello was stopped. “I shall bear the skin of the lamb as disguise of the wolf, and seek those that are to be retributed. May the father of melodious songs guide my plot. May the rivers exclaim, ‘Hail, Ambrosine!’. I shall be Aquarius, only giving gift to those of tragic need, and striking upon thee that cause such tragedy!”
“May the snake lend me it’s poisonous venom, so that I may fervently live through eternity!”
“Silence!” Hearing enough of that wretched voice, Aniello slit her throat slowly, allowing her final moments to be only that of pain and suffering. When the tip of the blade had finally reached the end of it’s destination, and the blood of the worthless sacrifice touched oxygen, a gust of wind groaned through the sky. The sun became black, shadowed by a toothed figure, which coldly pitied them from above. The face of a wolf, left the sky dark and foreboding.
The crowd went awry but for a few moments, before the shadow swiftly left the scene, as though in a hurry, seemingly taking Ambrosine’s body with it. The spectacle left the citizens in awe, as well as the players, of which the character of Aniello stayed as he were, though also in amazement. Did he what knew he only to; act. So he did, with such grace he acted as though it had been planned, and the people cheered with bellowing whistles and thundering claps.
And so, Thanatos had left it’s final mark on that stage, as afterwards, it was found that the players and writers were in… Less than formidable shape to perform their duties.