You try to straighten yourself rather than hunching in the darkness. You hold out your hands and put one foot forward to declaim.
You feel something brush your ankle, like cold fingers, or cold breath. You cringe, shrinking back. Your stumbling footsteps echo in the darkness. The light between your hands abruptly flickers and dies. The dragon scale in your pocket feels very much like a useless rock.
How did you ever hope to pass for a hero? Why did you arrogantly venture out into the darkness? You stand there silent on the pitch-black stage while the audience's whispers rise to a cold hiss.
The shadows deepen around you. It's colder now and hard to see your hand in front of your face. You can't force yourself to move a single muscle.
Then, to your profound relief, you see Viola enter carrying a lit lantern. You flee the stage and get your back to the stone wall, out of sight of the audience. You bury your face in your hands.
"Cheer up, kid," Matty says, appearing out of the darkness.
You wince, certain that you're going to get a tongue-lashing. "I'm sorry."
She shrugs, leaning out from the shelter of the wall to watch the last scene unfold. "You tried something. That shows gumption, at least. We'll make a trouper of you. One way or another."
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