The scene opens in Anton’s kitchen where two sets of unique ingredients are laid out on a counter before him. One side holds honey, fruits, and cream. The other side holds vinegar, dark chocolate, and spices.
Anton stands between them, reaching for an ingredient from each side.
“There was a chef I once knew. A pastry chef with undeniable talent. She could create layers so delicate that they melted on the tongue. One day however, she tried to salvage a dough that had been overworked.
You know, pastry is a matter of patience. Too much kneading, too much handling, and the structure collapses. But she couldn’t accept the fact that her creation was beyond repair.”
Anton dips a piece of fruit into the chocolate, holding it up to examine the resistance between the two flavors.
“She tried everything. Folding, layering, adding sweetness to mask the bitterness. She wanted so desperately to believe that she could put the broken pieces back together. That she could hide the cracks beneath a layer of sugar.
But no matter what she did, the pastry was ruined from within. It shattered with the lightest touch because it was never whole to begin with.”
He scatters a few spices onto a plate next to the honey, creating a jarring contrast.
“That reminds me of you, Gemini. You’re that broken pastry. Stretched, twisted, overhandled by everyone who thought they could shape you into what they wanted. Calypso’s precious daughter. Nergal’s dark vessel. John the Revelator’s tool.
Each one of them added their own touch, believing that they could create something special out of you. But in the end, all they left behind were cracks. Fractures that even you can’t cover up.”
Anton continues layering elements from each side, placing the conflicting ingredients closer together but never fully combining them.
“You may think that you’re whole now, that you’ve put yourself back together. But a pastry, once broken, cannot be mended. You can add all the sweetness you want, cover yourself with all the niceties.
But the moment you’re tested, the moment you’re truly pushed, you’ll break. Because, Gemini, you’re not whole. You’re just pieces held together by the hope that no one will notice.”
He gently pushes the two arrangements of ingredients closer, stopping short of joining them.
“But you see, I don’t have that problem. I’m not some brittle creation held together by the touch of others. I’ve built myself, with purpose, with intention. There’s no fragility here, Gemini. No broken structure hidden beneath a sugary facade.
But you? You’re still pretending, hoping that no one will see the cracks. The pieces that don’t quite fit.”
Anton finishes cutting the final pastry, letting the layers fall apart with a soft nudge of his knife.
“When we meet, Gemini, understand that you can dress yourself up all you’d like. You can pile on the sweetness and pretend that you’re complete. But once I start peeling back those layers one by one, there will be no disguises left to hold you together.
And when that last crumb falls… perhaps only then will you realize that unity can’t be built on fragments.”