There was a time when Leopold enjoyed spending days in a small cramped room discussing the finer points of life with dense rhetoric and puns. It had been the foundation of his empire and the source of his many mercantile successes. It, as he was sure to remind his wife at every opportunity, was what paid for their lifestyle and maintained their status in the noble houses of Scara Brae.

“Those were the days,” he mumbled to himself.

Six heads turned to him, a pastiche of disgust and surprise that told him all he needed to know about his behaviour.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was just thinking out loud.”

“The last time you did that you brought an orc army to our doors.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “Is something bothering you?”

Leopold thought about it for a moment.

“Look around you.” He gestured to the room. “We’re surrounded by texts containing the collective theatrical legacy of at least three continents.”

The troupe nodded in agreement, oblivious to the merchant’s point.

“And?” Ruby rested her hands on the table edge and pouted, a gesture Leopold had swift come to learn meant he was trying her patience.

“Don’t you think it’s a little ironic that we’re struggling to decide on an opening performance?”

“I mean,” Wainwright weighed in haphazard, “it’s not as simple as just picking a book and running with it.” He went to laugh but stopped when Ruby raised her palm to silence him. “Oh. Err, never mind.”

“If our deliberations are bothering you, why not take some air?”

“I think I might.” Leopold pushed his chair back and buttoned up his waistcoat. “I’ll be on the veranda when you decide on a play.”

The troupe watched him leave in tense silence. When the door closed behind him Ruby stood and approached the northern wall. As Leopold had indicated, it was laden with tomes from across the world the troupe had collected, and sometimes help write. She browsed the spines wistfully, her smile concealed by her position in the room. Though he was ever the crass, blunt instrument, Leopold had a way of seeing their problems and finding solutions.

“He’s right.” She tapped a blue spine and pulled it from the shelf. “We’re overthinking this entirely.”

“You can’t be serious…” Wainwright frowned. “This is the start of something grand. We must leave an impression. We can’t do that just pulling something out of the hat and running with it.”

Ruby returned to the table with the book at set it onto the pile of opened texts they had weighed, considered, and discarded over the course of a long evening. She opened to the first act and smiled.

“Deadly. Our first performance as Fated Circle will be of Madrigal Falls.”

“Oh dear god, I’m not putting on that damned wig for love nor money.” Arden scoffed. “I’m itching just thinking about it.”

“Steady on, Arden. I didn’t say we were just going to perform it as is. We’ll meet my sometimes-better half in the middle. We do this play, but in a way nobody has ever seen before.”

“But they already haven’t seen it before. Did you not understand the spell we cast? Nobody remembers anything about us.” The silent swordsman reached forwards to pull the book closer. “This may as well be a love joy’s whittling from too much wine.”

“Then let’s make it something they will never forget.” Ruby held her palm out, facing down, and waited for her siblings to join her in a pledge.

One by one, Arden, Wainwright, and Lilith weighed in and lifted in unison.

“Opening night is one month from tomorrow.” Ruby pointed to the door. “We have a lot of work to do, so let’s get out there and find ourselves a playhouse!”