You murmur the words of an enchantment, trying to create an illusory light. It should create bright phantom lights to dance like marshlights across the stage. It should be easy. Instead, it's like wrestling with something dark and wet, like being buried under decaying leaves or heavy, rotting fur. Finally you manage to kindle a tiny light. It's not much, a little ball of light in your palm as if you're cupping a candle-end there, but it's something. You feel the tightness in your chest ease, and it's easier to force yourself to stride out onto the darkened stage.
You walk out to center stage, hoping you're judging the distance correctly. You don't look at the shadows behind you. It's hard to see the audience, although they should be illuminated by starlight. You can hear them, though, shifting and murmuring, like a vast sea of people waiting to judge your every word. You hold your little light in front of you, lighting up a fraction of the darkness.
"All things that walk in light are born in darkness," you begin. "Alisse shed her light upon us for all too brief a time! And now we are in darkness again. Such utter darkness! And darkness is…"
The words falter in your throat. The shadows seem to be choking you. It's hard to remember what you meant to say. You stammer and fall silent. Each breath you take in the silence seems to roar in your ears.