Lost Voice
Lumiere. 67 years since the fracture. It is the day of the Gommage. Far in the distance, the Paintress sits beneath the monolith that glows with a stark, luminous number: 34. Gustave looks on, dreading the arrival of this hour. Today, his longtime love, Sophie, must face the Gommage. They shared a love that could never truly bloom; in the world they inhabit, love is not meant to thrive, it only births agony. Gustave goes to meet Sophie one final time. He carries a single rose for her final journey, hoping perhaps to say the things left unsaid, or to hear the words he has never heard. They meet, their eyes lock, words remain spoken. With a silent nod, they agree to bid their true farewell at the shore when the ritual begins. The Paintress rises from her latent stance. With a fair swing of her brush, she wipes out the 34 and paints 33. As the light takes hold, men and women of Lumiere start to dissolve into delicate rose petals, drifting and disappearing into the sky. Sophie remains for ...
