The scent of brine and decaying velvet filled Kavari’s nostrils, a bizarre combination that prickled at the back of her throat. Her eyelids fluttered open, then snapped wide. The ornate chandelier, its glass tears normally catching the light in a thousand tiny rainbows, now dangled *beneath* her, its gilded arms brushing against her hair. A mahogany armoire, heavy with carved rosettes, floated languidly above what should have been the floor. Except the floor was now overhead, and she was pinned against the masonry, held fast by an unseen force. Water, dark and frigid, pooled on the boards overhead, reflecting a distorted image of her own startled face. A goldfish, impossibly large and bright orange, swam lazy circles in the inverted deluge. Panic tried to claw its way up Kavari’s throat, but then a different emotion, hot and familiar, surged through her instead. Rage. Pure, unadulterated fury. “Are you *joking*?” Kavari’s voice, muffled by the supernatural adhesive pinning her to the overhead beams, was a raw bellow. “This is a bit much, even for Director Chatura! The commitment to immersive set design is *astounding*, truly. But I’m not sure ‘drowning the understudy’ was in the script!” Her arms, thankfully free, flailed. She tried to pry herself loose, her fingers scrabbling against the textured plaster. The absurd situation solidified into a familiar narrative: some elaborate, unannounced screen test. A hidden camera must be rolling. Her anger, a shield against fear, hardened her resolve. She twisted, arching her back, her muscles straining. A searing ache bloomed across her shoulder blades, as if a thousand tiny needles were pricking her skin. A sharp, cracking noise echoed in the submerged parlor. The adhesive gave way with a wet tearing sound, and Kavari plummeted into the icy water below. She hit the inverted rafters with a splash, gasping as the frigid shock seized her lungs. “Fine, fine! Excellent commitment to the bit!” she sputtered, pushing herself upright. The parlor was undeniably upside-down. A grandfather clock stood on its head, its pendulum swinging sluggishly in the water. The wallpaper, a delicate pattern of crimson lotuses, now stretched beneath her feet, warped and peeling. "But call-time is in ten minutes! What is this, some kind of 'escape the drowned drawing-room' challenge?” She swam, stroking through the murky water toward what looked like a bay window. The glass, thick and grimy, shimmered with trapped monsoon rain on the other side. With a surge of indignation, Kavari punched it. The pane shattered with a violent crack, fragments of glass sinking into the dark water. Cold, wind-whipped rain immediately lashed through the opening, stinging her face, carrying the earthy scent of the Srijana monsoon. She hauled herself through the broken window, scrambling over the jagged edges without a second thought for the stinging cuts on her hands and knees. The world righted itself with a sickening lurch, and she tumbled onto the slick, moss-covered cobbles of an alleyway. Rain plastered her soaked tunic to her body, her hair streamed with water, and her face was streaked with mud and blood. She didn’t care. She was late. *** Laveni, nestled beside a prop sarcophagus in the Chitra-Ghar Pavilions’ main rehearsal hall, watched the massive entrance doors swing open with dread. She had expected Kavari, if she arrived at all, to be disheveled, perhaps crying, certainly late. This was not what she expected. Kavari burst in, a living storm. Her emerald-green tunic, once pristine, was now ripped and plastered to her skin, outlining every curve. Her dark hair, usually braided with care, was a wild, dripping tangle, framing a face smudged with dirt and a thin trickle of blood from her temple. Her eyes, however, burned with an almost terrifying intensity, alight with a furious, defiant energy. Director Chatura, a figure of serene stillness on his elevated platform, simply watched. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of his lips as Kavari, drenched and radiating raw, untamed power, marched directly to the center of the hall, leaving a trail of muddy water in her wake. “Apologies, Director,” Kavari’s voice, though hoarse, resonated with an unyielding force. “Some… *unorthodox* preparation for the role. I believe I am still on time.” Chatura, a man whose presence usually commanded instant silence, merely inclined his head. “Indeed, Kavari. Precisely on time.” His gaze, usually veiled and distant, held a spark of genuine interest. “An impressive entrance.” [Karma Leech System: Sabotage Failure. Target's charisma gain: +12. Your penalty: Vitality Drain. Immediate effect: Severe pallor.] Laveni gasped, a silent, internal scream. A sudden, searing chill spread from her core, radiating outwards. Her skin prickled, then tightened, feeling like stretched parchment. Her reflection in the polished marble floor showed a face gone utterly bloodless, her lips a sickly blue. Her own body, it seemed, was punishing her. Kavari, oblivious to Laveni’s sudden deterioration, scanned the rows of waiting actors. Her gaze landed on Laveni, and her fierce expression softened, a flicker of concern replacing her anger. She started towards her friend, her steps still leaving damp prints on the floor. Before Kavari could reach Laveni, a nasal voice cut through the hum of whispered anxieties. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Chitra-Ghar’s resident guttersnipe, Kavari. And still trailing mud, I see. What’s next, an audition for a swamp monster? And look at your poor friend, Laveni. You’ve brought her down to your level, too. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.” Vidur, a preening actor known for his inherited wealth and theatrical sneer, lounged against a stack of prop crates. His tailored tunic was immaculate, his hair perfectly coiffed. He eyed Laveni’s sudden pallor with a cruel smirk. Kavari stopped dead. Her face, which had begun to soften, hardened instantly. The fiery defiance in her eyes intensified, locking onto Vidur. “Mind your own business, Vidur,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous. “Laveni is a far better actress than you’ll ever be, with or without a pristine costume. And she is my friend.” Her hand, still bleeding from the broken window, balled into a fist at her side. “Don’t you dare speak about her.” Vidur scoffed, taking a languid step forward. “Oh, look at the little alley cat, defending her equally pathetic companion. Perhaps you both belong in the shadows, away from the true stars of this studio.” As Vidur’s sneering words hung in the air, a high-pitched metallic shriek tore through the silence of the massive hall. From the intricate scaffolding high above, a massive, rusted klieg light, its ancient bolts finally giving way, broke free. It plummeted, a heavy, dark meteor, directly toward Kavari’s head.

The Upside-Down Audition