The Ice Queen sat upon her throne and twiddled her thumbs. Her silver rings clicked together – the spectators could hear them in the back row, so quiet was it.

“You call that a performance?” she asked the man in the hat, who had just kissed a woman in a trenchcoat?

“I…I’m…” he stuttered.

“SILENCE!” She breathed through her nose. Someone in the back row coughed and with a flick of her wrist, off came the spectator’s head.

“Come here.” She curled a finger at the actor.

He staggered forward, the fear in his eyes all but thrummed.

“Kiss me,” the Ice Queen whispered. She puckered her lips.

The actor leaned forward… and vomited his dinner into the Ice Queen’s lap.

The Ice Queen screamed and the guards murdered the audience. Every last one of them. Only the Ice Queen, the actors and the guards were left standing.

She stood from her throne. She decreed that there should be a new audience.

The performance would be repeated the next night, as it had been every night for a year.

Tomorrow, perhaps the actor would get it right.