No sooner than the
thought has crossed his lips, the hideous cacophony begin to abate.
As the volume decreases, a spotlight appears amidst the gloom,
highlighting a handsome, noble looking man wearing a ripped, tattered
ball gown with badly applied make-up smeared across lips and cheeks.
A microphone descends from the dark ceiling above, which the man
quickly grabs before the man extends his arms as if to embrace the
adulation of the jubilant crowd.
Several minutes pass,
the crowd cheering their approval, the man smiling, nodding, almost
drinking their applause as nourishment before silencing the room with
a single finger touched to his lips.
“My lords and
ladies,” he declares, bringing the microphone close to his lips,
“You are all most welcome...” he pauses for a moment, allowing
the hushed room to hang on his words, before continuing “...To the
Imposters Parade!”
