The gemstones tumbled across the orange-red mosaic, spots of green among the tones more suited to a wasteland than a Tier-Dweller’s home.

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The play ends with no help from my “friends,” Merigold folding me so neatly into the evening’s script that she must have been forewarned of our attendance.

The show begins with a flash of blinding light as Merigold ascends the stage. She’s a vision, her presence commanding a level of attention I usually reserve for assassins and accountants.

An electric chill enters the air, both energizing and dreadful. Rach spins but doesn’t pull her sword. “Rachalynn.” The voice is as seductive as a warm chocolate brownie.

Hours later, we're sitting in a balcony box dressed in our best. Rach stands by the velvet drapes, dressed in black silk, her hands clamped on the railing.

I grin, inhaling the citrus-scented breeze that eternally blows through Skathagrat. An attack by glitter-spewing slimes provided a welcome diversion along the road