It was curtain down for King Lear and Jon's final regular performance with the Shanachie Repertory Group, and he had mixed feelings about it. He knew he was doing the right thing, both for himself and his family, but it hadn't been an easy decision to make. While the prospect of directing was exciting, as any new venture tended to be, it was a little scary, too. Jon was at home on the stage, as he'd been since he was practically a child, but not so much behind it.

The theater was quiet this time of night. The lights had gone down, and everyone had gone home, leaving him alone with an empty stage, empty seats, empty audience. How he had loved the stage, the drama, the applause, but it was time to turn another page and start another chapter, and as Mataya had reminded him, there would always be a place for him as an actor, if he ever needed to scratch that itch or return to the stage.

In the meantime, he was hoping to support the theater in other ways, and by doing so, to support the actors, both experienced and inexperienced so that they could benefit from his knowledge and experience. It seemed somehow fitting that he say goodbye to the stage using the Bard's own words as spoken by Macbeth, though it wasn't a final farewell. "Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

In the darkness of the empty stage, a soft voice answered his, with words written before both their times. "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entraces, and one man in his time plays many parts ....his acts being seven ages." There were no footsteps to betray the arrival of another person onto the stage; just the merest shifting of shadows, until finally the Grey Lady of the Shanachie Theater stood with Jon, looking out over the silent auditorium.

Startled to find he wasn't as alone as he thought, Jon turned to find a shadowy, unfamiliar figure, quoting Shakespeare alongside him. Whoever it was, it was defintely a female and one he didn't recognize, though he suspected who it might be. He'd heard of the Grey Lady of the Shanachie, but he'd always assumed she was little more than a myth ....until now.

Hortense had never taken the time to speak with Jon, because Jon had never needed her to. He was a master in his craft, and though he suffered with low confidence at times, he had friends and family he was happy to talk to about that handicap. He did not need the intervention of the theater's good luck charm. Until tonight.

Smiling, the ghostly woman turned her face toward the actor beside her. "You have played the mewling infant, the whining schoolboy, the lover, and the soldier, Jonathan Granger," she said in her quiet way, her voice at times barely more than a whisper from the stage itself. "It is time for you to be the justice, wise and modern, a man capable of supporting his family in all ways and maintaining the respect of his peers."

One brow ticked upwards in surprise as she addressed him. He might have expected as much from a friend or even an acquaintaince, but not from a stranger such as this. But then, if she really was the theater ghost, she might know more about him than he dared admit, able to watch quietly and unseen as she was. "It seems you have me at a disadvantage, lady," he told her, as she seemed to know who he was, though they had not been properly introduced.

"You are a friend of Mataya De Luca, and you say you do not know me when you see me?" the ghost asked in amusement. "Very well. I am Hortense Docquey, formerly mistress of this house before it was converted, and now known as the Grey Lady of the theater."

"I have heard of you, but ..." He frowned, a little ashamed to admit the truth, especially since he was a native of Rhy'Din, where ghosts and other such phenomena were a fairly commonplace occurence. Nevertheless, he'd never met one personally, as far as he knew, though he'd been told of her existence. "Seeing is believing, I suppose," he said, with a small shrug.

Hortense's smile was gentle as she looked away, her gaze taking in the deep shadows of the auditorium, the hanging curtains above them, the pit at their feet. "A theater does not truly live without ghosts," she said thoughtfully. "They are not all like me, ghosts of people gone before. A theater's ghosts seep into the walls - they are made up characters played with passion, emotions stirred by true performance. This theater is full of ghosts. But I am the only one who speaks."

Jon turned to look at the theater around them, the shadows that darkened the corners, the empty seats, the way their voices echoed through the quiet theater. He stifled a shudder, though there was no chill in the air, and he wasn't really afraid. "Why do you stay here?" he asked. There was no accusation in his words, only curiosity.

"This is my home," she said simply. "It was built for me. I lived here and I died here. But I had no joy in my home until a cheeky little woman bought it and redesigned it, and breathed life back into a place that had not had a heart for many, many years." She paused, looking around once again. "I never had children in life. In death ....every soul that finds something to cherish within these walls is my child."

Who was he to judge her or to tell her she should move on, if she had found some sense of peace and happiness here, though he thought it might be a lonely kind of existence. "Aren't you lonely?" he asked further, unable to see the ghosts she insisted shared her existence. Was she being literal or figurative in her claim that the characters themselves haunted these walls"

"Should I be?" she countered with a smile. "I am not as you are, not any longer. You should not try to judge my existence in comparison with your own." Turning fully to face him, her smile gentled. "You made the right decision, Jonathan. The theater will always be here. Your family will only be young once."

He didn't question how she knew what he'd decided. If she knew the goings on at the theater, then it was easy enough for her to know what everyone else knew by now - that he'd decided to take a break from acting to focus on his growing family and to try his hand at directing instead. "I know. It's not that that worries me," he admitted. He'd already discussed his decision in depth with Vicki and Mataya - the only two people whose opinions really mattered - but he hadn't openly admitted to them his own fears and uncertainties regarding his decision, which was mostly a lack of self-confidence. "I'm not sure I'll be very good at directing," he admitted. He had few doubts about acting, but leading other actors was another matter altogether.

"From what I have observed, the greatest directors allow their actors to help them shape a story," Hortense offered thoughtfully. "They do not hold rigidly to their first plan. The first plan changes when they speak with others - such as your wife, before she decided to leave us - and that changed plan can alter many more times before the curtain goes up on the first night. The essence of the story is all that must remain."

"Yes, of course," Jon agreed. He'd experienced a little of this when he'd directed Rhy'Din Nights, but that had been an original production based on a novel. There had been nothing that had gone before to base their characters or the performances on. "I'm not sure if the other actors will accept me as a director," he explained.

"She has grown, over the years," the ghost smiled. "When I first met her, she was a reckless, thoughtless child. And now ....it seems that responsibility has made her a woman people are proud to know. Her journey has been a good one."

Though he didn't remember anything of his life before his return to Rhy'Din, he knew the same could probably be said of him. "Everyone has to grow up sometime," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

"And so have you," Hortense said gently. "I watched you struggle. I saw you come alive when you first took to this stage. I witnessed your loves and your losses; your rebirth. I was here when you proposed to your wife; here, too, when news of your firstborn's imminent arrival had you whisked from a performance mid-way. You have grown into the man you always promised to be, Jonathan Granger. This is simply the next step on your journey."

"It is a journey, isn't it?" Jon remarked, with a thoughtful smile. What was it she had quoted from the Bard" All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. The same could be said for Rhy'Din as for Earth. Life was full of drama and comedy, tragedy and happiness, but life was far more precious than any stage play, and Jon had come to realize that no matter how much he loved the theater, it was his family - his wife and children and uncle and siblings and cousins - that were really important. That was why he had decided to step down from acting, at least for now. The theater would always be there, but the same could not be said for babies and children.

"They have their exits and their entrances ....but no one ever said that those players exeunt," Hortense said softly, her smile growing. "You have entered and exited many times. There is no reason why you cannot enter again, when the time is right." Her head tilted as she seemed to hear something he could not. "And now life is calling you back once again. I am always here, Jonathan Granger, for my children. If you need me, I am easy to find."

"And Mataya would probably love to have me back," Jon added with a smile, though he thought he might enjoy directing for a change. It was quite a bit different from acting, he knew, though still stressful in its own way. The smile faded when he realized she was taking her leave of him, but he only thought she had said what she'd come here to say. "Will I ever see you again?" he asked, though she seemed to have assured him of that already.

"In the wings, out of the corner of your eye, perhaps," she smiled at him, already beginning to fade as she spoke. "I will always be here. And you will always return." The last words were barely more than a whisper, a last sigh of good night on the air as she faded from sight entirely. But there was hardly a moment between that goodbye and the sound of footsteps making their way toward the stage.

"You know, one of these days, I'm going to install a damned timer on the stage lights," Mataya was muttering audibly as she stalked toward the lighting switchboard.

Jon heard Mataya's voice behind him, but he was lost in thought and a little bit in awe for a moment as the theater ghost faded from view. So she wasn't a mere myth, after all. But then, it was Rhy'Din, and he'd seen far stranger things than ghosts in his day. He blinked out of his thoughts as she made her way toward the switchboard. "Sorry, I was about to lock up. I didn't know you were still here."

'Taya jumped almost out of her skin at the sound of someone else's voice, her heels clattering against the floor as she spun about. "God, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" she laughed, shaking her head. "What are you still doing here" Vicki's gonna go nuts if you're not home soon."

"Sorry, I thought you knew!" Jon replied with a bit of a chuckle as they both seemed to have startled each other. "I was, uh ..." What was he doing, anyway' "I was just thinking, I guess." Contemplating on his career and if he was doing the right thing when a ghost showed up to act as his surrogate mother maybe?

Mataya considered him for a moment, and looked around the very empty stage. "Uh-huh," she said slowly, raising her eyes to her friend with a faint smirk. "You met Hortense." It was a guess, but not much of a stretch. She'd seen a few people with that particular look about them on the empty stage at this time of night before now.

"Guilty as charged. Does it show?" he asked, a bit of a smirk on his face. "So, now that I'm on hiatus, does that mean I can let myself go a little?" he teased, though he hardly thought Mataya would care as much as Vicki.

"She has a certain effect on people," his friend assured him cheerfully. "Come over here before I turn the lights off, or you're gonna fall over the set." Her finger hovered underneath the switch that would plunge them into darkness. "And now you're on hiatus, if you manage to find a way to let yourself go a little, it'll be a miracle."

"Well, I could stop shaving," he mused aloud, as he made his way toward her, an amused smile on his face. "Emily thinks my whiskers tickle." Mataya was right about one thing though - Jonathan Granger was far too vain to ever let himself go too much.

"Emily loves your whiskers, she just likes to tease you," Mataya pointed out, flipping the switch as she captured his hand. They both knew backstage like the back of their hands - there was no danger of falling now. "She's gonna be so pleased to have you around while she's getting used to nursery."

"I just hope she doesn't get too jealous about having two more siblings to compete with for our attention," Jon pointed out, as she drew him through the darkened theater toward the exit, even though he probably could have found his way there blindfolded.

"You're worrying again," Mataya pointed out. Almost at the door, the toe of her shoe caught a coil of wire. "Oh!" There was a thump as her hand slipped out of Jon's, and a flare of light as Mataya's body weight swung the door to true backstage open before she hit the floor in the darkness, giggling like an idiot.

Jon would have replied if it wasn't for the fact that a thump had followed her letting go of his hand and then a giggle that helped him locate her in the dark. As fate would have it, his groping in the dark to find her ended with his hands groping her breasts, much to at least, his embarrassment. "Oh, sorry! I-I can't see a damned thing!"

"Dude, they're not handholds!" Laughing hysterically now, Mataya batted at his hands, taking a firm grip of his fingers. "Pull me up, and I promise not to squeeze your rod in retaliation."

"It's a tripod, just so you know," he corrected, snickering a little at his own faux pas, but glad for the darkness to hide his blush, though that didn't last for long as the sudden flare of light was almost as blinding as the darkness. He reached for her hands, unceremoniously tugging her to her feet. "Sorry, 'Tay. Please don't tell Max!"