Luna Tyler wasn't asleep.
But she wasn't awake either.
She floated.
She remembered sitting at her desk, eyes heavy, script open. She remembered whispering the new title::The Final Curtain Falls on Love Itself and how the letters pulsed like a heartbeat.
Then everything blurred.
Now, she was standing,In a theatre,But not her theatre.
This one was ancient. The seats were red velvet, moth-eaten and dusty. Cobwebs draped the balconies like forgotten lace. The chandelier above was cracked and swaying in a wind that didn't blow.
And on the stage, Ghosts.
A full cast of them.
Costumes torn. Skin pale as candle wax. Eyes blank but watching. Each stood in place like mannequins caught mid-performance.
One girl, center stage, wore a 1920s flapper dress soaked in blood. Her hands clutched her throat like she was still choking. Her lips moved without sound.
Behind her, a boy with hollow cheeks and a broken cello hummed a low, trembling note.
Luna knew, somehow, she was seeing the original cast.
The doomed performers from 1927.
Still rehearsing.
Still trapped.
Still dying.
"Welcome to the wings," a voice whispered behind her.
Luna turned.
Damoné.
Tonight, his tuxedo was midnight blue.
His eyes glowed like stage lights. He leaned against a golden pillar, relaxed as ever.
"Where am I?" she demanded.
He gestured around them. "You're between acts. Between worlds. Where stories never end and actors never leave."
He stepped forward.
"This is where they go the ones who sang their hearts out. Literally. Where every note is a nail in their coffin."
Luna backed away.
"You trapped them here?
"No," he said, almost offended. "They chose to perform. And they sang every note perfectly. I merely wrote the show."
She stared at the stage. The girl in the flapper dress raised a shaky hand. Reached for Luna.
"Help us," her lips mouthed.
Luna turned back to Damoné.
"What happens if I stop singing?"
He tilted his head. "Then the understudy dies in your place."
Her stomach twisted.
Theo.
Suddenly, the stage lights snapped on.
Music swelled.
The dead cast began to move.
A new song.
No title this time just raw melody and sorrow.
Luna was pulled forward like a puppet. Her feet touched the stage. The flapper girl took her hand, twirling her into a waltz.
Their voices rose together.
( Original Song title: Encore of the Forgotten)
ENSEMBLE (Ghosts):
We sang and danced until we bled,
We begged for love, we died instead...
Curtains fell, but we remained,
In shadows bound by sweet refrain.
LUNA: asked.
Is there a way to break the rhyme?
To shatter score and steal back time?
I never asked to sing this fate
But silence now may come too late.
GIRL (Flapper Ghost):
Only love can close the page,
Only truth can break the stage...
But love, my dear, must first survive,
Or we remain half-dead, half-alive... She said.
As the final chord echoed, the entire theatre went dark.
When Luna opened her eyes.She was back in her room.
Sweating. Shaking. Her bedsheets soaked. The script lay open on her chest, a single fresh page fluttering in the candlelight:
"ACT FOUR: THE ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH THE FIRE."
Across campus, Theo bolted upright in his bed.In his dream, he'd heard Luna scream,
And someone whisper:
"Understudy. Your cue is coming."