The curtain rises, revealing a table set for a company of shadows. A crystal bowl sits solitary, filled with a shimmering cadence of sorbet. The room hums with a vibrato not of this world, as pale figures flicker around the moonlit scene.
An ethereal silence envelops, broken only by the soft crash of unseen waves. The protagonist enters. His steps are whispers, measured yet unpredictable. With a slight bow, he greets the transparent audience—none but the stars to witness his dance.
As if guided by invisible strings, his form arcs gracefully. The sorbet, a congealed melody, mirrors his every move. A spoon appears in hand—not of silver, but of glistening void. He serves the air, each scoop a verse unspoken.
The next scene is set—a solitary lantern flickers with life. The glow dances around the edges of reality. A soft shadow materializes, veiled in the cadence of sorbet. Together, they waltz in a world wrapped in twilight, their figures locked in an eternal, silent embrace.
And as the final note lingers in the hushed atmosphere, the protagonist bows once more. The audience remains unseen, yet their presence is undeniable. The sorbet melts slowly, a testament to the ephemeral beauty of the moment.
The stage darkens, leaving a whisper of light where the sorbet's cadence once thrived. The curtain falls, but the melody endures—unheard, unseen, a phantom of the night.