Issue 4 - The Serenade Files

very well. I’ve made sure of that.
Really, strictly speaking, the only one
who knows but doesn’t seem to care
is that idiot Jeffrey. Remember him?
As for the rest of us, we do care, and
we are a little concerned.
Andreas: It’s all my fault.
Thaddeus: What is?
Andreas: All this. [points at paper
on floor] All this. I didn’t know how
else to build a world where she
would… where she would love me.
I’ve created something so wonderful,
so perfect, so real. And I was able to
describe its every facet. It was the
way I would love someone if only I
would ever meet her.
Marin: Who is it?
Andreas: It’s no one.
They all looked at him closely.
Andreas: It’s all of you. All of
you carry something of me and
something of what I thought she
should be. I never filled in the details.
I’ve described a world that she would
love, friends that we would have,
adventures we would go on. And
all of you were there, in your own
stories, ready to go, waiting for us.
Thaddeus: I did wait for you, and
so did Marin, but you never came.
Instead a woman called Angela Briar
tipped us off about you. That’s why
we are here.
Reba: I did wait for you, but you
never came. Instead a man called
Arthur Kleis told me about you.
That’s why I am here.
Monica: And I have waited for you,
Mr. Bukhardi. I have waited for you to
return me back to my original story,
but you never did. Admittedly you
were a very careful writer, but not
careful enough. You see, everybody,
Mr. Bukhardi here wrote the rest of
his story into my story. This, all this,
is MY STORY! What he didn’t know is
that I would then take his writing and
rewrite it myself. Check mate, Mr.
Bukhardi.
Monica produced a wad of folded sheets
from her pocket, and watching Andreas
slowly collapse to the floor, she unfolded
it and held up the topmost page.
Monica: Here is where you describe
this very Opera House, complete with
that idiot Jeffrey.
Andreas looked at her with an air of
resignation. With a single swift move,
LIBRETTO