The farce has come to an end.
The sparse vegetation in her garden has been left in disarray by the incident. The purple potato flowers lie scattered upon the soil.
Grandma: Nice! It's spud season again.
Grandma: Charlotte, I've made ye mashed tatties for breakfast today, with plenty of sweet cream—yer favorite.
Charlotte: Coach says I can't eat this anymore. Floor Ritualists need to keep their figures trim. She says that if I want to win the gold, I need to—
Grandma: Oh, Charlotte. Now they've got ye worried about yer eating too?
Grandma: I know you're a good little thing, and you like yer Floor Ritual very much, but with all that training ye do, and with all this growing you've still to do, you have to eat properly, otherwise you'll wither away into nothing!
Grandma: Just take one bite, eh? How about it?
Charlotte: One bite ...
Coach: What did you have for breakfast?
Her eyes are fixed on the small clump of mashed potatoes left hanging on the girl's chest.
Coach: Creamy mashed potatoes?
Before the girl can react, she explodes.
Coach: How many times have I told you?! If you want results, you can't eat rubbish like this!
Charlotte: I was just trying to get a little energy.
They both know this is just an excuse.
Coach: The Uluru qualifiers are in three days, Charlotte! Did you forget that little fact?
Coach: Or do you think that pathetic speck of talent of yours gives you the right to get complacent? Eh?!
Coach: If that's what you think, then let me tell you now, Charlotte.
A cruel smile spreads across her face.
Coach: What a waste of space you are.
Coach: There'll be no shortage of talent at the qualifiers.
Charlotte: Why? I know I shouldn't have done it, but you don't need to humiliate me like this!
Coach: Humiliate you?
She gives a sharp, cruel laugh.
Coach: You're right. I don't need to humiliate you. Because the moment you walk out on that floor beside real athletes, you'll have already done it to yourself.
Coach: Go ahead. I won't stop you.
She is casual in the face of this cruel remark.
Charlotte: ...
Coach: Go ahead and eat your creamy mashed potatoes if you love them so much. Oh, and Her Majesty needs her beauty sleep, too. Why not go ahead and cancel your morning training? In fact, why not take the whole day off?
Coach: Sports are just too exhausting, I know. Not only do you have to put up with your aching muscles, but you have to watch what you eat and deal with your bossy old coach. After all, you're Lady Charlotte, a fine noblewoman.
Coach: How could a noble be asked to sweat on the red land of Uluru? She should be sitting in the audience, yes, in the audience with a parasol and a cool drink, no?
Coach: I shan't waste my energy on you any longer.
She turns and exits the training ground without a backward glance.
Charlotte: ...
Charlotte slowly clenches her fists.
Charlotte: Feck!
Charlotte: I'm not ...
She punches the wall, and the pain in her knuckles fills her with bitterness.
Charlotte: I am not Lady Charlotte!!
She grits her teeth as her sinuses sting. She holds back her emotions, not letting the tears flow from her eyes.
Charlotte: I will win that gold medal.
She presses her leg hard against the wall, her whole body bending into a gentle curve.
She begins the routine she has practiced a thousand times before, but this time alone in the room. Her body traces arcs in the air as she leaps and lands through each element.
Charlotte: 0.2, 0.5, 0.3, 0.7, 0.4 ...
She silently records the score of each element as she goes.
Next comes the most important part—the arcane skill segment.
Charlotte: Huff ... huff ...
She closes her eyes.
Invisible energy flows through the air.
Charlotte: Phew. Eye of Day, Keeper of Balance. You are the Endless Well.
Charlotte: Healing Sulis, shining Sulis, holy Sulis, to us, you tell.
A faint glow appears before her eyes.
Charlotte: You warm our souls, heal our wounds, and grant us endless peace.
The light is as warm as spring. She reaches out her hand to it.
Charlotte: If only I could touch the hem of your garment, that flowing, loving radiance ...
Charlotte: ...!
Charlotte: Did I do something wrong? Why can't I see your radiance?
The energy still flows beside her, stirring her hair and softly ruffling the feathers on her leotard.
Charlotte: Why can't I see you? Why do you reject me? How can I win your favor?
In the endless darkness, her voice is the only echo.
Charlotte: I'll do anything—give you anything—just please, let me win that gold medal!
Coach: Hah.
That voice shouldn't be here. She opens her eyes, startled.
Charlotte: What are you—
Coach: I came to get the wire recorder.
Charlotte: The wire recorder?
But the wire recorder is for everyone to use. It's always in the training room. She's never seen anyone take it out of here before.
Coach: Charlotte, the cruelty of competitive sports is that even if you give everything, you're very likely to end up with nothing in return.
She continues, half speaking to herself.
Coach: I thought you'd understand this. But, no, you're just a ridiculous, foolish little girl.
Coach: Think about those who came before you. Saoirse, for example. Everyone thought she'd win the games hands down, even her competitors.
Coach: But in the end, she injured herself before she could compete. She never even saw Uluru for herself, only heard those three haunting syllables repeated by everyone around her. Of course, you know better than I what happened to her after that.
Charlotte: She jumped off London Bridge.
Coach: What makes you think you won't be the next? That you won't end up like her?
Charlotte: I—
Coach: On your feet!
An unexpected command.
Coach: The last element you just performed. Do it again.
Coach: The qualifiers are just around the corner, and you're still jumping like that? If you aren't able to bring forth your arcane skill, you absolutely cannot afford to make a single mistake in the rest of your routine.
