They called her the queen of tragedy. Just a slight quiver of her lips and the audience would burst into tears. She ruled every heart in the city. Except the one she wanted to win.
Like always, she peeped from behind the curtain. There he sat in the front row, looking as striking as ever. His fingers were entwined with mine. As her gaze met the diamond adorning my dainty finger, I knew something broke inside her. Two minutes later we applauded as the curtain rose. There she was, with a gun in her hand, as planned. Boom! It went off, as expected. Blood flooded the stage, not as rehearsed. The audience cried today, not for her performance but for the actor herself. The entire city went to her funeral. I saw him shed a tear at her coffin. She had finally managed to move his heart, but she wouldn’t know now, not ever.
I thought of true love as I bent over her face and whispered my apologies for switching the guns.