ACT I: The house creaks alone on the edge, evening hush spills through its windows.

MAVIS (winds up her gramophone lovingly) Whirr, scratch, music warbles into the corners. She spins, gown flowing like whispers on water.

BOX (on a dusty table, dispenser of dreams or disappointment)

ACT II: Streets stretch into infinity, yet wanderers find a single way.

PERCIVAL (stoops at the alley entrance, pursuivant of shadows) Hears the gentle tapping...tap, tap, tap...

Mothballs, endless line, under soft awaiting moon above.

ACT III: The room darker, silence as thick as moth wing or wheel.

GRACE (gazes from high window, seeing everything and nothing)

She forgets and remembers the aroma of lavender mothballs, hung like miniature moons among faded drapes.