The room echoed as the stage lights suddenly turned on in the empty theater, glaring onto the empty stage. As the sound died down, soft, almost indiscernible footsteps could be heard walking on the wooden stage, slow, deliberate. The the footsteps paused suddenly, and the sound quickly died down amidst the cushioned chairs both on the main floor and in the upper level. The seats where covered in red velvet, trimmed with decorative brass tacks, and the backs and armrests were of a dark, polished wood, elegantly carved to represent leaves, vines, flowers, and sometimes theatrical faces. The rows of chairs were marked alphabetically, and the aisles were lined with small, soft lights, meant to guide the viewers to their appropriate seats. Had the lights in the audience been lit, the elegant paintings upon the theater walls would have been revealed, along with the delicate trimmings, golden faces, and the chandeliers that hang from the ceiling, all glittering with crystals.
But there would be no one visiting the theater tonight. No one but an old soul who came to reminisce about days gone by.
Gently, the sound of the footsteps began once more, their maker coming out from the left side of the stage, pushing the black curtains out of his way until he was free of them. As he continued toward the middle of the stage, the strayed just far enough to let his hand run almost reverently over the red velvet curtains that would have hidden the cast as they prepared to begin a new scene. When at last he stood in the center of the stage, the footsteps stopped once more as he merely looked around, his back to the non-existent audience. He imagined the room filled with people, the cast and crew backstage scrambling around as silently as they could to get the last minute preparations finished, while someone chastised one of the players about drinking before acting their part. The image was so real in his mind that he could almost see it, feel it, taste the excited expectancy in...