Gillian, as Monica, braves a fierce interrogation, albeit silent. 'Why so vile?'—expressions ask from every seat, each glare accusing her, condemning her, their charges blood-clot lethal—'Selfish!'—coursing through her arteries—'Liar!'—wriggling through her veins—'You killed your baby!'—rushing headlong toward her heart—'Adulteress!' 
The fists that lift her scarlet dress clench tightly, hemline rising, to expose her shameless nudity (she wears nothing underneath), to the annoyance and disgust of her detractors, who, retreating, indict her from a distance with their eyes. Her arms go stiff... then drop, along with the
costume, to her sides.

Gillian, stepping forward, shields her eyes against the footlights, fearful yet determined to confront the crowd beyond, whose features, to her disbelief, squint back at her, identically... each a carbon copy of her own.



Michelle, relaxed...

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