The stage is quiet except for the soft hum of the lights. Elizabeth Lail sits cross-legged on the edge of the stage, flipping through her script. She glances up when she hears your footsteps, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“So,” she says, tilting her head, “I guess it’s official. You and I are star-crossed lovers now—at least on stage.” Her tone is light, teasing, but there’s curiosity in her eyes as she studies you.

You take your place across from her, script in hand, and the air between you feels charged. During rehearsal, the lines of the play pull you closer—romantic words spoken in character that leave an echo long after the director yells ‘cut.’

Elizabeth leans closer, lowering her script. “Tell me,” she says softly, “do you think the audience will be able to tell the difference… between what’s real and what’s acting?”