And if I play something that makes them feel ashamed ?
No. I just made you hear the room instead of the game. That’s not survival. That’s a mirror.
You want entertainment? (She lifts her hands, palms up.) Here’s the finale.
(A single VIP — the one who yawned — slowly puts down his wine glass. He raises his hands. Claps. Once. Twice.)
(She lifts her hands. Brings them down — not on the keys, but on the wooden lid. A flat, hollow thud .)
(She presses one note. Low. G. It hangs in the air like a held breath.)
“One more game, and I’ll go home… One more friend turned to foam… One more chance to feel my chest… Before they carve it from the rest…”
(Blackout.)
Then the game was rigged from the start, dear player. Begin.
(Cameras pivot to a gallery of silhouettes. The VIPs. Gold masks. Some hold wine glasses. One yawns.)
Because the last time I touched one, I was still real.