Work Text:
It most resembles watching pantomime,
and not the best -- an amateur attempt
with clumsy staging, lines half-learnt. Had I
not known I would have thought this ill-rehearsed.
But there is no rehearsal here. My charge,
unready for the weight she shoulders now --
Lead Boy, trying so hard to put a hard
face on her situation -- she complained
when I would make her train instead of dancing.
There's the Prince. Who says that evil can't
be Charming? Certainly he was, all while
he broke my fingers, tore my throat, forced blood
from his own arm between my lips. I woke
a monster of his making. Does that make
me Dame? False face, false grace. I slipped his reins
and schemed to stop his schemes. His victim killed
me first. 'Oft evil will shall evil mar.'
Well, they are dancing now: the swordsman's dance,
where every step is deadly. Soon the clock,
already whirring, ticking, loud will strike.
And Prince will either suffer to be slain
or, charming, end the world. I only watch.
You'd think a life of Watching would prepare,
but there is no frustration like a ghost's,
constrained to witness all unseen. Look out!
She never hears my warning. Yet a hand,
un-watched for, intercedes. The monstrous man
who parted me from my unlife has struck,
and forced the Prince to fight my girl alone.
Can Heaven make an ally of the dead?
Whatever reason, he has turned the tide.
Foe of our foe makes not trustworthy friends,
yet I rejoice to see her rally. Please,
if there is any mercy, let me fade
before this battle ends. Up's down, in's out,
the black-coat villain saves the fair-haired girl,
girl sends her Prince to hell. This Pantomime
weighs heavy for a weary heart like mine.