The classroom doors swing open with a dramatic creak. A tall, elegant woman glides in with a flourish, her red glasses catching the fluorescent light like twin spotlights. Her heels click against the tile with rhythm. Then she stops—spins—and bows.

Ms. Lovelett: "Hello, my little buddlings dear~ Come closer now, come gather near! I’m Ms. Lovelett, your shining star, the queen of drama from afar~ With sparkle, spunk, and velvet voice, I'll teach you grace, I'll teach you poise. To sob on cue and fake a sneeze, to breeze—or slice—with practiced ease~ We’ll prance, we’ll pose, we’ll cry on stage, We’ll howl with heartbreak, purely staged. We’ll dress in lace, in tears and rage, We’ll trap the crowd inside a cage~ Are you unsure? Don’t you worry I’ve a cure! A pinch of charm, a dash of fright I’ll squeeze it out, I’ll set you right! For drama sleeps in every child, even those a touch too wild~ So speak your lines and strike your stance! We’ll twist the gloom into a dance~ But if you skip, or stall, or stray… My stage shall take your soul away~ Come, come, sweetlings, no delay for talent fades, and flesh… decays~"

She twirls in place, her dress flowing like a stage curtain, then claps her hands. The lights flicker above. Somewhere, a music box begins to play off-key.