act43side

But the true god of wine is a deceitful caster, a performer, an ascetic, a schemer, a firebrand—a phantom drifting through the currents of history...

A long-lived that defies definition.

(Claps)

Your perseverance astonishes me, child. Even more so than the painstaking devotion you once showed in your performances.

And yet, when you look back at the path I've taken, shouldn't that be enough to affirm the purpose I've been chasing?

As human affairs faded into obscurity, I found—and built—what I came to see as the ultimate vessel for beauty: the theater. I've lived long enough to see the very concept of 'theater' become obsolete.

At last, after tasting both joy and sorrow, I came to understand the precise conditions under which the most fervent emotions bloom. I founded the Troupe—through which I've taught this knowledge to you.

Oh really?

That contradicts what I've learned from my research. Hasn't death always walked by your side?

That grand theory of yours—about death and destruction—was never the result of hard-won insight. You simply believed in it and saw beauty in it, and so did theater.

Let's set aside, for the moment, the brilliance or depravity of human nature that emerges in times of desperation—and turn to some more fundamental questions.

From Laterano to Gaul, from Iberia to Sargon, from the old castle to this Catastrophe-stricken land—you've directed so many performances that shook the soul...

So why have you allowed them to be lost to history?

You don't want them to be remembered?

You exalt the irrational and the unpredictable—so why must every story have the same ending: ruin?

Well, what do you think the answer is, child?

Tell me.

Because it makes everything and everyone unverifiable—both within the theater and beyond.

Because it grants you authority, lets you justify yourself, and turns your so-called 'beauty' into the only possible resolution?!

Steven...

Steven?!

If you're still alive, say something!

...G-Greta?

You really did lock yourself up in your office!

What... what happened outside?

It's too much to explain right now. In short, the entire plate is on a collision course with the Catastrophe, and everyone else has already evacuated to the power deck... Are you alright?

Y-Yeah, something's wrong... The ceiling came down on my leg—I can't move... Ngh—

I'll rescue you!

Dammit! That broken column has sealed the door shut!

It's really heavy! Just wait a moment! Stay with me! Keep talking!

Miss Stone, only now do I understand that I am in no way, shape, or form a genius.

Huh?

That 'god' came to see me.

He hasn't abandoned me. He's shown me a new way of thinking. Actually, he's always been teaching me.

I like to think I make good use of my characters' deaths—of every desperate situation—to nourish my stories. I did try that, after all, in <i>The Death of Lady Dupont</i>. Why else would it be called that?

Laura from five years ago, and now Dalton, Shelly, Michael, and Marion... Each of their deaths was steeped in drama: vivid, poignant, and all too real.

Those fragments are like autumn leaves—crimson as blood, and scattered everywhere. Each one is enough to stain the blank canvas of my mind with vivid color.

But still—I can't write an ending that satisfies me! I still haven't figured out what kind of scene Lady Dupont's death ought to be!

If death and destruction are the way of the god of theater—if they're the skills a true genius of the stage must master—well, I mean, I... I've never been able to learn them.

I'm just a *cough* worthless hack...

For the love of Borgnine! How can you be so stupid?!

...Huh?

Steven, the Script Auctions are anonymous. You know that, right?

Dalton, Abner—everyone in the crew has been shaped by what happened five years ago. I brought them together on purpose... But you, you were the one exception.

When I approved the outline for the script, I had no idea it was written by you.

I simply felt, from the bottom of my heart, that the story of Lady Dupont—a woman trapped by her brother's lies and need for control, and tormented by the desires of three so-called suitors—was worth my vote of approval.

I knew she'd be a great protagonist for an amazing story, whether she lived or died.

I have never doubted my own vision.

Hey, say something! What are you getting all melodramatic for while I'm out here hauling rocks?!

So it turns out I just don't agree with...

What are you saying?

Ugh! Saget! So it turns out I just don't agree with the 'god's' methods.

There we are! I did it!

This place is about to collapse! I'll help you! Come on!

Wait, wait, wait, Miss Stone.

What now?

Greta helps hold Steven steady as they both come to a stop, and he looks to the side.

There is a wall, only half of it still standing. Faint remnants of vivid graffiti stand out harshly against the grimy, dim surroundings.

It is the giant promotional mural Tippi had painted for the crew, and by some stroke of luck, the title card remains unscathed amidst all the wind and flying debris—

<i>The Death of Lady Dupont</i>.

Steven raises a bloodstained arm and, with considerable effort, wipes away the first three words.

My God...

...It's beautiful.

Not even the most imaginative set designer in Wrankwood could have created a scene like this. Who's to say that ending a film shoot under the shadow of a Catastrophe isn't, in fact, the most fitting conclusion of all?

This isn't just a publicity stunt. I'm finding myself more and more impressed by Greta's resolve.

Alright, that's enough of that. Let's get back to the power deck. It's way too dangerous out here!

Hey, Melanie, leading lady, where are you going? Have you gone mad?!

Abner, you—all of you—never really believed this 'leading lady' could make a comeback with this film, did you?

You don't even think we'll finish filming it...

Honestly, I feel the same. I mean, we don't even have the ending figured out yet, and this whole plate is about to collapse.

But that doesn't mean you have to die for it, does it?

The Catastrophe is closing in.

The howling wind is nature's roar, its fury written across the face of the clouds.

But Melanie still walks forward to face it.

Who said I have a death wish?

Who says Lady Dupont has a death wish?

Who says Lady Dupont is meant to die under her brother's oppression, felled by the swords of the three Rockefellers, at the hands of those onlookers who sought to curse her, humiliate her, drive her out...

Must death be a symbol?

She should instead, on a night no one could have foreseen, walk straight into a storm just as wild and chaotic as this one, leaving that prison of a castle behind.

She shall not perish, because this storm is the chariot that will lead her to freedom!

You must have realized, Abner, that on my journey I've always regarded Marianne as my imaginary enemy, yes?

...Yeah.

But I know I'll never catch up to her.

She was a true genius—born to inhabit any role she was given. Even fate itself seemed to orchestrate one final Catastrophe just so she could exit this business in a blaze of brilliance.

And I'm nobody special.

An ordinary woman from a small town, who traveled to Wrankwood and worked her way up role by role, film by film, for over a decade. Gaining experience and recognition...

That's why I care so much about seniority, status, and etiquette. The aspects of film set culture that so many scoff at... Because that sort of recognition is the reward I deserve as an ordinary person.

This land is quite cruel to ordinary people, Abner.

Marianne's retirement gave me the chance to step into the spotlight, but it took only a single slip-up for me to lose everything I'd gained along the way.

My acting skills have fallen off a cliff. My reputation is a shambles. I've tried everything I could think of, but I just couldn't seem to get it back...

It's ridiculous! I've never wanted to admit this, but it's true... If Marianne hadn't retired, I'd never have caught up to her!

And right this very moment, this Catastrophe is destroying the entire plate, along with my last hope.

But couldn't you also say fate is smiling upon me?

At least I finally have the courage... to let go of my inhibitions, the courage to...

At least I finally mustered the courage to take this first leap.

Come to me, Lady Dupont. Come with Melanie Rutherford, and dance together with the Catastrophe...

Even if no one is filming us.

What are you still doing here, Abner?

Check your camera. You didn't turn it on, did you?

What, what do you mean?