The Theatre

The theatre was damp from the leaky ceiling; ill lit, with splintery benches and stagnant smoke filling the hall. It was a copper to enter, and wine flowed freely for another per pour. Patrons had to bring their own mugs. Rosalyn had never seen such a foul, common degradation of the actor’s art. The fearful players yelled their parts to cut through the rambling of the audience, though few listened. A copper for shelter from the rain was a deal in even the poorest quarter of Alandren. She followed her prey here; she would wait for him to move on.