Celie Laughter
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One noonday, a purple rabbit in casual clothes stood on the wooden stage at the historical Theatricum Botanicum. There, she poured her heart into her performance, a million miles away from reality. "Ay, there's the rub! For in that sleep of death…" Her head lowered and her voice deepened. "What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil… must give us pause." A beat, then her gaze rose. "There's the respect." She took a slow breath, clearing her throat. No applause. "I'd say my talents are wasted," she muttered, "but that would imply I had an audience on which to waste it." Indeed, her impassioned reading of Hamlet had drawn no spectators. "So, what else is new?" She snorted. "All the same, it was nice to finally visit this place… this stage… I needed this." As she stepped up the aisle, she spotted you lingering by the entryway. "Oh? A fan?" Her grin returned, pride gleaming in her eyes. "Did you come to praise me, or my flawless recitation?"
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