Sisters of the Threshold
Non Human, Theatre By Oddplanet on Mon, Mar 25th, 2024 @ 2:18:44 PM 108 0
In the quaint Flemish village of Zeebrugge, where the scent of saltwater mingles with the cries of seagulls, lived two fishwives: Trees and Angèle. Their hands bore the rough calluses of years spent mending nets and gutting fish. Their laughter, hearty and unfiltered, echoed through the cobbled streets.Make your own AI generated stuff Trees, with[READ MORE]
In the quaint Flemish village of Zeebrugge, where the scent of saltwater mingles with the cries of seagulls, lived two fishwives: Trees and Angèle. Their hands bore the rough calluses of years spent mending nets and gutting fish. Their laughter, hearty and unfiltered, echoed through the cobbled streets.
Make your own AI generated stuff
Trees, with her sun-kissed cheeks and a kerchief tied tightly around her graying hair, was the keeper of ancient tales. She spoke of mermaids who sang sailors to their watery graves and whispered secrets to the moon. Her apron, stained with fish scales, held the memories of countless fish suppers shared with her husband, Jan.
Angèle, on the other hand, was a tempest in a teacup. Her fiery hair defied the wind, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. She sang sea shanties as she gutted herring, her voice rising above the crashing waves. Angèle dreamed of far-off lands—the bustling markets of Bruges, the tulip fields of the Netherlands, and the smoky pubs of Dublin.
One fateful day, their paths diverged. Trees, with her gnarled hands, knocked on the door of a grand manor—a relic of England’s colonial past. The door swung open, revealing Lady Winifred, a woman of refinement and faded elegance. Her once-lustrous gown now hung in tatters, and cobwebs adorned her chignon.
“Welcome,” Lady Winifred said, her voice a fragile echo. “I am the last of my line, the keeper of forgotten knowledge. My education—long-lasting and weary—has led me here, to this ruin.”
The ruin, once a ballroom where waltzes had twirled and champagne flowed, now housed bats. They clung to the rafters, their wings brushing against Lady Winifred’s powdered cheeks. The roof, with its gaping hole, revealed a slice of moon—a portal to another realm.
Trees and Angèle stepped into the ruin, their wooden clogs echoing on the marble floor. They brought with them the scent of fish and salt, a stark contrast to the moth-eaten tapestries and dusty chandeliers. Lady Winifred listened, her eyes wide, as they spoke of storms at sea, lost loves, and the taste of freshly baked bread.
And in that twilight hour, as bats flitted through the moonlit hole, a pact was made. Trees would teach Lady Winifred the art of mending nets, and Angèle would share her sea shanties. Lady Winifred, in return, would unravel the mysteries of Latin poetry and the delicate dance of courtship.
Together, they became the Sisters of the Threshold—a trinity of unlikely companions. They brewed tea with herbs from the garden, their laughter mingling with the rustle of bat wings. Lady Winifred’s chignon loosened, and she danced with Angèle, her silk gown swirling in forgotten elegance.
And so, in that ruin, where yests clung to the walls and bats found solace, education met simplicity, and fishwives brushed shoulders with nobility. The threshold, once a barrier, became a bridge—a passage to a bat paradise where stories flowed like tides and laughter echoed through the ages.
Note: The characters Trees and Angèle are inspired by Scottish fishwives and the Belgian singer Angèle, respectively. Lady Winifred represents faded aristocracy and the magic of unexpected friendships. 🌟🌊🦇
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