On stage, the villain is asleep. The audience is encouraged to hold their breaths. The villain dreams of cardboard clouds passing through the night. The sky is a sweltering velvet, held together by loose nails. When the villain awakes, the clouds and the sky fade. A newfound spotlight shows a table and chair nearby. The villain staggers and sways into the chair. The legs wobble but do not break. The villain pounds on the table with random demands. Apples, candles, gold. Only silence follows. The villain falls asleep with his head on the table, his feet on the ground. “The rotting tree,” he mutters mid-dream, “will never reach my height.”