Prologue:

A beautiful woman, MERCIELLA, appears onstage, illuminated  by a single light. She wears a white dress, that seems almost magical, and stands still looking towards the ground. All around her orchestration swirls, as well as the sound distant murmurs and giggles from all sides fill the stage. As the orchestrations and asides swell, she silently lifts her hands, gracefully, as if to silence all around her. Like a conductor conducting and orchestra all noise halts, as she puts one finger to her lips and smiles. She turns around, back facing the audience, and begins to leave when a small voice speaks. A YOUNG BOY, appears onstage. 

Young Boy: You promised a story! 

The murmurs flourish and the orchestration, changing tempo and rhythm begin to swell again. The young woman slowly turns to the audience, in the direction of the presumed voice, smiles, and giggles to herself.

Merciella: Oh, did I?
Young Boy: You did, one of great beautiful places, of adventure, and triumph over the bad things!
Merciella: Oh, I did, didn’t I? Hmmm, well let’s see. Shall I tell the story of the strapping Peter Pan?
Young Boy: We’ve much grown out of fairy tales.
Merciella: Peter was no fairy, he was a boy!
Young Boy: But he’s of myth and legend, pure fantasy.
Merciella: All I’ve got are your so-called, fairy tales. 

She starts to wander back.

Merciella: Unless…
Young Boy: Unless what, maiden?
Merciella: I’m not quite sure you’re the right breed for the story I’ve got.
Young Boy: What breed do you require?
Merciella: A very special breed. I’ve very specific instructions.
Young Boy: Well, I’m special!
Merciella; That may or may not be true, but I can’t waste this story on a maybe.
Young Boy: Well, I’ve been told I’m very special.
Merciella: Has your mother told you that boy?
Young Boy: Every day.
Merciella: My mother told me the exact same thing when I was about your age, every day in fact, much like your mom.
Young Boy: And my mother never lies!
Merciella: They rarely do boy, unless it’s necessary, of course.
Young Boy: Well my mother never does, so I know I’m special>
Merciella: Well, you’ve got quite the spirit, this story requires, that’s for sure.
Young Boy: You’ll tell it then?
Merciella: If you wear a tree down to it’s nub it does indeed become a stool over time.
Young Boy: Pardon?
Merciella: I’ll tell it boy, but you’ve got to keep it a secret, for it’s a story that’s only meant for the truly special, not every soul can hear it’s magic and believe.

Scene 1:
Lights shift to a pool of light at the corner of a stage. In that pool sits a woman, HELENA (MERCIELLE’S mother), MERCIELLE crosses to her mother and sits at her feet with her head in her mother’s lap, she’s gone back in time and is now four years old. 

Young Merciella: Mama, tell me a story.
Helena: Alright, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, until you’re much older.
Young Merciella: A secret story?
Helena: Very secret, in fact so secret only a few people are special enough to hear it’s wonder. 
Young Merciella:  But why?
Helena: A story in the hands and hearts of the wrong person can be a very dangerous thing little one.
Young Merciella: But it’s just a story, right?
Helena: That’s for you decide, but promise me that you won’t tell it until you find someone equally as special to tell it to. Cross your heart?
Young Merciella: Cross my heart.
Helena: Pinky swear on Merrietta? 
Young Merciella (looking at her rag doll) Okay, but why? 
Helena: You’ll know once the story is finished. You trust me don’t you?
Young Merciella: Forever.
Helena: Okay…it starts as all stories do…
Helena and Young Merciella: Once upon a time….

The scene shifts suddenly, revealing a mythical forest -CARTHIA-, in the distance MERCIELLE can be seen crossing in the background with the YOUNG BOY and HELENA, all are holding hands. They have all now become passive participants in the storytelling, although HELENA and MERCIELLE still narrate it the going. The place is a cross between Neverland and Wonderland, but neither really, instead somewhere just in between the lands. The forest itself seems to glimmer and flicker as it’s a newly lit flame, and if by magic, off in the distance the same murmurs and giggles of earlier are heard every so often someone(s) flit across the stage, as if they were playing tag, splashes of water/waterfalls can be heard, yet even with all the commotion the forest itself is relatively peaceful, or at least at peace with it’s own mythical being. 

Young Boy: Where are we?
Mercielle and Helena: Carthia.
Young Boy: Neat.