"And then the searchlight which had been turned on the world was turned off again and never for one moment since has there been any light stronger than this—kitchen—candle…"

The light dims. Blanche Dubois stands centre stage, staring with an expression of despair into the middle distance. The polka rises all around her, and – in that moment – she can feel the air still as each audience member, unknowingly, holds their breath.

This is Christine as she wants to be remembered. The moment stays with her for an inordinately long amount of time.

Shakespeare has always been her favourite. It is theatre at its purest, at its most unadulterated, most traditional.

And yet, even when discussing the wonders of the stage, it's hard to find an audience. So when Jeremy Heere sits by her and just starts to listen, it's a moment of respite. A southern belle soaking herself in a hot tub.

An audience. That's all she ever wanted. With Jeremy, all she needs is an audience of one.

Jake Dillinger is loud and brash and forward and everything Christine imagines an actor should be. It's as though a character has come to life before her – for the first time, she feels as though life might reach that ideal. As though, finally, she might find her acting partner.

Somehow, she's not surprised when he drifts away.

They always do, the stars – the ones so self-obsessed, they couldn't see past themselves to those they upstage. Drifting in the ensemble, she slowly lost her name, costume, her identity.

She's glad she's the one who could give the final curtain call.

The searchlight grows strong, and here she is – Christine, Christine Canigula, bright and bold and beautiful and –

And suddenly – unendurably – everything blossoms into clarity.

It's as if the voice in her head has suddenly made itself heard. And the voice in her head is applauding, cheering her name, cheering his –

And the next thing she remembers is a scream.

A boy – not an actor, not playing pretend – approaches her, quietly. A boy. A friend.

The ensemble murmurs quietly, echoing backstage. A warning? Applause? Where is her cue?

"Lunch? Just the two of us."

The wings grow silent. Christine smiles.

Blanche Dubois looks up at the stars. She breaks down in tears – real tears, because here she is, centre stage, and she has found herself. She turns to the boy beside her, glances up, falls into his arms. The audience watch, with bated breath, waiting for her to speak. Her moment.

She cries out, in a longing voice. "Sometimes- there's God- so quickly!"