Your role is not a speaking Role.

Your role is not a talking Role

Your job is to stand in the Background and exist, until the Narrator decides your job is done.

The Fourth Tree to the Right considered herself lucky when she was younger. Being a piece of the setting, there was hardly any risk for her collecting the narrator’s ire. So long as she was quiet and stayed in line, she was fine. And her family being of a long line of “set pieces” those she cared for most were out of harm’s way as well.

Because why would the narrator kill of the background when the audience wouldn’t mourn it?

But they would, she learned. The audience would mourn, if the loss was great. A blight or a forest fire is a tragedy in and of itself.

But the Fourth Tree to the Right knew the name of every bush that’s set alight. Of every tree that withered and decayed.

It only took two performances and nearly all that she knew was dead and gone. Perhaps she is still lucky, for being one of few that survived, or perhaps she was being punished? Would the narrator be so cruel to take all she cared for and destroy it for that?

Did she speak too loud? Then she will be silent.

Did she move too much? Then she will not while eyes are on her.

Did she draw to much attention? Then she will stay in the shadows that she is meant to make.

And so she lived, quiet solitude so different from the warm forest she was raised in.

And now that the narrator is gone? She'll leave, and pray that the next place she find herself is kinder than the last