Terrence frowns. "I suppose you're right - the idea of them being, say, torn down - Yes, yes, I fear you're right."

"I am very grateful to you for trying to make sure that this work is shown."

"It would be the greatest honor of my life," Terrence says, sincerely. "I only hope I can help. The King in Yellow has changed my life. The world should see it - and should see your good work in bringing it to life."

Meanwhile--

Hannah sends Jing Yi a return letter asking if he would like to get lunch sometime.

Jing Yi would be delighted to do that!

"Good afternoon," Hannah says, sitting down at a chic little French restaurant.

"Good afternoon. It's very good to get a chance to meet you. Your performance in the King in Yellow was excellent. It's a shame it got cancelled after only one night."

"To be honest it's just as well," Hannah says.

"...Oh?"

Actors in his experience generally prefer not to have things cancelled, unless something truly ridiculous was going wrong... which isn't that implausible in this case, but still weird?

She shudders. "The play gave me the creeps. And I don't even remember the performance, not after the second scene. It's like I went into some kind of fugue state. Sorry-- I'm sure that isn't what you wanted to talk about."

"Your performance was even more impressive, in that case. And it's fine, I'm happy to be a friendly ear to someone else in the profession."

"It just... feels like I can open up to you somehow? And I haven't-- there's no one else I can talk to about it, not really. Not who takes me seriously."

"I can understand that."

"There are these dreams. Ever since I was cast, I just-- they're like nightmares, but they're not quite nightmares."

"I'd like to say something sympathetic, like, 'Everyone gets those, I still get those dreams about the first play I was in except I've forgotten all my lines,' but-- I know this almost certainly isn't that. So, I wish I could say something more sympathetic than 'I'm so sorry, that sounds awful.'"

"It's just-- images. A still form with yellow robes which move in a wind that isn't there. These vast, thrusting fish swimming over a gracious white city. And-- the drawing Mr. Estus had the Stranger wear-- the Yellow Sign--"

You know what, maybe getting passed over for that hack Walter getting cast isn't such a bad thing. "That sounds quite unpleasant."

"I tried not to look at it, we all did. It made us sick when we saw it and it made the nightmares worse."

"...And Mr Estus decided this must mean it was really good costume design?" He says it with a tone of contempt for the concept of playwrights and directors.

"Oh, yes, he refused to redesign it. We thought about going on strike, but--" She doesn't have to finish the sentence. It is hard enough to get work.

"Probably for the best the audience lost it, I guess. It was probably the only way it was getting stopped-- though quitting after the audience attacked you is also an incredibly reasonable choice."

"You know, we didn't have a dress rehearsal? The first time we performed it all the way through was opening night."

He's not sure his face is capable of making the appropriate expression of horror and confusion. "I-- what?"

"He said we didn't need it, we could just-- practice in pieces-- And we didn't say the last words of the play in any of our performances."

"...The man doesn't know the first thing about writing or performing, and somehow he still manages to put on a play. 'Let's not practice the end! There's no way that could go wrong!'" he says in a fake Estus voice.