In the Darkness Behind the Stage

"Pull in more people. This city has plenty of fools. You can pull in more — yes?"

"I am aware."

"Truly? Truly aware? — In fact — *you haven't been using that, yes?"

"…!"

"Ah-ha! As I thought. Thought so. Sure, the gate is healthy — but, somehow, the pathological note is missing."

"…Pathological, well-said."

"Because it's true, yes? …Mind, you are amazing. Pulling in this many people without using your 〈Demon Lord〉 strength. Means your singing-and-dance itself is demon-laced."

"Praising — please choose your words."

"Sadly, I'm not good at praising people. Aha-ha."

Somewhere in the art-city.

In a dim back-of-stage of some opera-house, two voices were crossing.

The first — a voice of frightening beauty, beyond anything of this world.

A voice that lands on the heart more than the cleanest singing-bird, on one sounding; in the same beat, the kind of strange power that seems to heal psychic wounds.

In that voice, an embracing capacity one might call demonic.

The other — a voice equally beautiful in tone but, behind the words, mixing in a belittling shade. — In a different sense, also a strange-power voice.

"Expressions shift fast, you. Why not become an actor."

"No no, I am already playing a role, so I'd be double-acting. Not that dexterous. This is fine for now. If something more interesting than the current role comes up, I'll, properly, end this role first and swap over. — How's that? Sincere, yes?"

"A sincere actor plays the role through to the close before stepping off the stage."

"Aha, the just line stings."

A line of light from the stage-side leaked just barely through the gap in the curtain and lit the back-stage.

Like a single ray of sunlight, the line slipped in and, for an instant, lit the figure with the light, lively voice.

A man dressed Pierrot-shape.

At a glance, playful register comes through; light-and-flashy in dress.

But — bewitching mixed in too; an unsayable charge.

By dress, just one might call him male; the thick-painted face was an androgynous beauty.

The body — not too large, not too small, but slim — and the limbs moved with a strange smoothness that staged a gloss of its own.

"You should stand on the front stage instead. Currently you're in clown-paint, but the face under it is, originally, very clean."

"Eh? Am I being praised?"

The clown, on a staged surprise.

The hand raised to cover the mouth — black manicure shining on the nails.

"No no — but — front-stage — bored of it. Came up there plenty in childhood."

"First I'm hearing it. Your personal history."

"Could be a lie, mind?"

"Compared to ordinary people, you are a liar — but you are not the throw-them-out-everywhere type. By feel, true-or-false I can read."

"Oh-la — paired off long enough now to see through my line? Demonic — truly demonic eyes you have."

"Sarcasm — please cut it. I'm not — currently — in a good mood."

"What. One song closed, the audience that gathered to this opera-house is all melted over you. Woman's happiness — no?"

"Knowing it — you're saying it, no."

"Right, right — that. You don't want this. — Pulling in people for Saisalis."

"…"

The clown let a bewitching smile up.

Light, dancing past the curtain again, shifted angle and slid into the back-stage, this time at a slant.

It, finally, lit the woman standing across from the clown.

The woman across from the clown was a peerless beauty no one could fault.

By herself an art-piece; a flawlessly clean woman, existing.

A woman more beautiful than any jewel.

"A slightly cross face — also without flaw, as a woman."

A back running clean, a body-line carrying solid womanly roundness.

Visible above the tight dress, the cinched waist was, on its own, an art-craft fragment.

Even with that, never losing demure register; refined of feature, graceful without arrogance, in a soft-bearing register.

"Mn — as an actor, perfect — but as a woman perhaps a touch too perfect."

She had, as a woman, no opening.

"I am a woman born under the name 〈Bewitch-Demon〉. As an ordinary woman I cannot live. So — evaluation on that axis is, now, without meaning."

"Self-deprecating, you. 〈Bewitch-Demon〉 is a bad by-name — let it rest at 〈Bewitching Queen〉. Bewitch-Demon carries monstrous connotations, you know… The title-system is — bothersome — that the rank shifts not only on power-order but on people's sentiment. …Impression and so on. For instance — depth of hatred."

"Demon-class titles, in particular, run that way."

"Demon in the name lands that way."

After the clown's line, a beat of silence.

"But — Bewitch-Demon is Bewitch-Demon. As long as the most standard version of the title-system certifies me as Bewitch-Demon — I am Bewitch-Demon."

"Hmm. — Then — if someone broke that?"

"Could that break? From the wicked-Demon-Lord era to the hero era, and on, as a label-tool — that has lasted until now."

"Sure — long-running culture — the system itself not breaking is plausible. — But — what if the currently negative meaning loaded into the title shifted back into the older positive one? The system has already shifted meaning a few times."

"Cannot. As long as the strong country Mūzeg is using it to gorge on power. And Mūzeg gorged on power is becoming a monster no one can handle."

"…Mn. If you are at that level, leave it be for now. Even if Mūzeg vanishes, your current master Saisalis still stands."

"Even so — you have a duty set on you. If you do not want the greedy power-hunters chasing you, do the duty cleanly, and let Saisalis protect you. — Don't forget that part."

"…I am aware."

"Right — I'll be off. Phew — talked plenty for once, tired."

A presence cut from the back-stage, suddenly.

Light still lit the woman's graceful limbs, but soon the light returned to its original angle.

In the line the light had run, the clown's figure was no longer there.

In the back-stage darkness — only the woman, jewel-beautiful in form, drifted, sway-sway.