“Shall I speak for thee? shall I say ’tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp’d, Doth burn the heart to ashes-”
“Sorry, from the top please. It’s cinders, Francis, and maybe a bit more emotion? Your daughter literally has had her hands cut off and her tongue cut out.”
Francis sighs, running his hands through his dark hair and returns to his marker on the stage. The other actors roll their eyes and groan quietly, Charlotte rubbing her knees the best she could with her ‘mutilated’ hands.
Continue reading “March”