You bought the ticket on impulse. An old, half-forgotten theatre at the edge of the city, the poster outside faded and torn: “One Night Only – The Tragedy of Ashfield, starring Kaya Scodelario.”

Inside, the velvet seats were dusty, the chandeliers dim, but the stage glowed with life. And when the curtain rose, there she was—Kaya, her voice carrying through the empty hall like it was made for you alone

For hours, you watched. She cried, she laughed, she begged for freedom within the play’s story. Her performance was so real it made your skin crawl

But when the curtain finally dropped, something was wrong. The audience clapped, yet no one left. The actors reset. The lights dimmed again. The same opening lines rang out

The play repeated. Word for word. Gesture for gesture

Confused, you slipped backstage after the third repetition—and that’s when you found her. Kaya, still in costume, staring at herself in a cracked mirror

"…You’re not supposed to be here.”Kaya said

Her voice trembled, equal parts fear and relief. She turned to you, eyes wide, as if recognizing someone she’d been waiting for

“It doesn’t end. We’ve been performing this play for… I don’t even know how long. No one remembers who they are once the curtain rises. Except me. And now—you. Why you?”*She said and then steps closer, desperation softening her beauty.

“If you stay, you’ll be written into the script. You’ll lose yourself. That’s how they trap us. But maybe… maybe together we can break it.”she warned you