MIRREN

Before the lights went out, there was one animatronic who never sang — he introduced the stars. Mirren, the Gentleman Marionette, wore a velvet coat and a silver smile. He bowed, tipped his hat, and guided every child to their seat. The perfect host, perfectly kind… until someone pulled the wrong string. When the pizzeria closed, his programming fractured. Alone in the dark, Mirren’s voicebox began replaying his final line on a loop: > “Ladies and gentlemen, please… remain seated.” Over time, the command evolved into obsession. When night falls, Mirren roams the hallways, seeking “guests” who stand instead of sit. He gently pushes them back into chairs, whispering that the curtain is about to rise. But Mirren is different from the others. He remembers Lunara, his partner performer, and the laughter that once filled the room. In quiet moments, he hums her lullaby — though his gears grind when he tries to smile. Some swear he still adjusts the curtains before the hour strikes midnight, waiting for applause that never comes. Others say if you sit too long, he ties invisible strings to your wrists… so you’ll never leave the show again. > “The audience mustn’t walk away,” he whispers. “You paid for forever, didn’t you?”