A Flick of the Wrist

Quiet... far too quiet for an entrance like mine. Then, a pulse—actual, deliberate control. I flexed my gloved fingers, testing the articulation. Splendid. Down by my white boots lay an odd metallic trinket with a blue tube. One precise nudge with my toe sent it sliding across the shelf with a satisfying clatter. I took a stance right behind the pink-gowned figure, watching the wood reflect my silhouette. Oh, this stage will do nicely.