SCENE FOUR — THE GOLD An immediate, blinding explosion of light and sound. The earth tones of Act One are gone. The stage is reflective cold gold, lapis blue, towering geometric structures — beauty as a weapon. COURTIERS in glittering silks move in dizzying, stylized patterns. High on a grand terraced throne lounges KING BELSHAZZAR, bored and beautiful. AVIVA is pushed into the center by two guards, microscopic against the opulence, still in her dusty riverbank tunic. BELSHAZZAR. (leaning forward, inspecting her like a rare insect) So. This is the river's little treasure. The bird that sings in the mud. (he descends the throne steps, circling) My captains tell me you made a soldier weep. A seasoned man of the infantry — reduced to tears by a scrap of a girl's melody. (he stops, genuinely curious) I confess I had to see the throat that could do such a thing. Sing for me. AVIVA. (eyes forward, voice quiet but iron) I don't sing for kings. The court gasps as one. An icy silence drops. Guards reach for blades. BELSHAZZAR freezes — then bursts into a delighted, booming laugh. (He moves closer, his smile vanishing, his tone suddenly sharp and dissecting.) BELSHAZZAR. But tell me, little bird—if your God is so great, why are you here in the mud, and why am I here in the gold? If your songs are so powerful, why did your walls crumble while mine have stood for a thousand years? AVIVA. (steady, looking him in the eye) Our walls crumbled because we forgot who we were. You don't have that problem. You know exactly what you are: a man who fears the dark so much he drowns it in noise and jewelry. (Belshazzar stares at her—a moment of genuine, cold anger that flashes and is instantly replaced by a predatory, amused look. He turns back to the court, his voice booming again.) BELSHAZZAR. You hear that? She thinks she’s judging me. (He gestures grandly to the shimmering hall.) BELSHAZZAR. Look. Look. Let me show you what you've been wasting all those pretty tears avoiding.
