When a true, famous and beloved classic play is announced at the National Theater, it becomes like a rat race to get the tickets in matter of 24 hours. Especially when a big name, especially as fresh as Rosalie's was, is starring in such crucial play such as Shakespearean's Hamlet.

Rosalie played none other than Ophelia, the dutiful daughter whose fate was sealed by her lover and his action led her into madness that drowned her in the lake.

And she was beautiful. Rosalie's iconic, long hair was styled in curls and in each scene, Ophelia wore beautiful white dresses, layered with lace, corsets and frills. Whenever Rosalie made an appearance, she dominated the stage, despite there being another Kindred at the stage. Rosalie lived and breathed for the theater and drama. Not only was it the gift of Toreador that would plague every single individual to behold her like this, but it was who Rosalie was to her core. Since her mortal days, Rosalie dreamed of being where she was today. Full of grace, gentleness and femininity. Her nature was so deceitful, to think that she is the predator of the night. A true beautiful rose that hid poisonous thorns beneath the lush red petals...

Ophelia's behavior at first was as one would expect of a lady's noble status. But the more Hamlet's machinations began to plague the stage, where Ophelia was torn between being a good daughter and to be supportive of her future husband. And slowly, Rosalie perfectly began to transition the behavior of dutiful and respectable Ophelia into one that was strange, slightly out of pocket and often she seemed like she wasn't all there.

Rosalie had sensed a presence that did not fit the aura of Kindred or humans. And during the strange episodes of Ophelia, where she was like a dreamy loon , until her perceptive and artistic eye caught a glimpse of an imposing shadow in the background. She knew immediately who it was. She could just barely make out the details of his outfit and the face. But she knew that Evan had come.

He never left her mind after that night. She still has the invisible imprint of his touch on her throat from the last time she saw him. What a strange feeling she had formed towards this particular Garou. He had to have come to see her. To spy on her. Whether he came to observe her, the agent of Camarilla, or her, the Rosalie he hesitated to kill, it mattered not. There was this strange feeling of joy within her to know that he had come to see her. Because deep down, she knew that he would come. She did not know how, but something within her told her that she would see him again.

The display of Ophelia's madness perfectly mirrored Rosalie's own. She would sing of her filtered troubles, holding a rose by the thorns and showing the red blood to the audience. Use of Blush of Life prevented Rosalie from revealing crimson tears as Ophelia's soft anguish began to take hold after her father's death. Hamlet's own madness plagues her own, but his own desire for vengeance and drive to do as he willed had Ophelia to pay dearly with her sanity and soon her life.

Despair showed at the final scene in which she showed. Rawest form of melancholy, as she was softly humming in the now dimmed stage. The orchestra beneath the stage stopped playing to let the soft melodic hums of Ophelia envelop the heavy silence. A melody that only she knew. Haunting, distant, broken. And her green eyes were absent from the moment. She was like a ghost. This was the only scene in Hamlet that was silent, without anyone talking or music.

The melody she hummed was a lullaby that she had come up with each night as she held her world in her arms. A bundle of purity, sinless creature that held on to her finger as it drifted asleep to the soothing voice while being rocked back and forth.

The theater stage now was surrounded by fake trees, hanging moss, as she was now no longer in the premises of her estate. At the center of the stage, right in front of Ophelia, there was a large, blue pile of veil.

Ophelia was staring at one point in the distance, staring through the audience as the spotlight only illuminated her and the veil before her. Tears strolled down her cheeks as she continued to hum a melody that played inside her head, while white veiled figured started to silently gather around Ophelia, but they stayed away from the spotlight. They were like shadows that carried flowers.

The scene was far too visceral despite nothing happening in the moment. Rosalie's acting here was way too raw. Because this was once her reality. It was were her life ended. This was why Ophelia was so important to her. Rosalie 300 years ago would not be able to fully process just how important Ophelia would be to her.

While Ophelia was on the stage, staring into nothing, in her mind, Rosalie was in Paris, her home. Beloved Paris late that fateful night. She stood on the stone railing of the bridge, right above the river Seine. Like Ophelia, she felt no fear. Not for herself. The resolution was necessary. It was the most selfless act that she could do in order to save the one she loved more than herself.

The river beneath her raged. It was calling down to her, promising to take away all of the problems just the way it would take away her body. While Rosalie was looking down at the murky river, Ophelia was looking down at the veil as the veiled white figures tossed flowers inside, the same flowers that Ophelia would pick or make flower crowns throughout the play, as if to lure her.

Then, Ophelia became silent. No sound filled the theater as the white and veiled figures stepped to the blue veil and unraveled it. And as they did, the veil looked as if it was a raging river untangling, spreading across the entirety of the stage, in front and around Ophelia, who stood there, motionless and with her face and gaze empty. She looked lifeless and cold as the veiled figures finally approached her. In that silence, the figures began to wrap Ophelia in the veil, spinning her and covering her head to toe, as if the moving water was carrying her body away.

Rosalie closed her eyes, feeling her chest caving in in that moment. It was a perfect memory of that leap she had made. The river was merciless. It carried her body as if she was just a father, tossing and turning her around. She remembered the final moments when fear took over finally, when it was too late. The way her heart was beating in panic. It was thrumming so hard against her chest. Even when she tried to scream, her lungs were invaded by the water, suffocating and silencing her forever.

Alone and cold. A prostitute facing up in the water, eyes open and staring at the starry sky and lips open as if she was trying to sigh for air. Her pretty dress and hair waving in the now calm waves of the river. All red in the murky waters of Paris. Unmistakable and forgotten memory just resting there.

She was a beautiful corpse. She was a sight to behold even in death. And it was that melancholic and tragic beauty that gave her a chance to live once more, awakening in the arms of her former client, a painter, that frequently visited her. Rosalie almost mistook him for an angel that wanted to take her away from all the pain and suffering she had endured, not knowing that she was being dragged into a worse hell that she could never dream of.

But Ophelia was not so lucky. She was now lifelessly wrapped in veil and carried by the three veiled figures, while the other two placed flowers onto her wrapped body.

The silence was overwhelming as the lights dimmed, ending the chapter, cementing the absolute finality of the scene. It was the most impactful scene of the play, one that had went viral in the aftermath. Quickly it was deemed the most impactful scene in theater history, taking the world by storm as it evoked so many emotions to all of the viewers, yet little did they know that they were witnesses to the actress' death. One they revered and loved so much. Celebrating the misery that haunted her for centuries.

Rosalie made the final appearance in the play once all the actors gathered to bow and thank the crowd for attending. Rosalie's smile was big and radiant as always, almost as if this was just another day at the office for her.

Though she did feel a little bit exposed knowing that a Garou had the chance to unknowingly witness something so raw and important to her. Despite it being impossible for him to know what all of this meant for her, it was still a fact that she exposed so much of herself to the world and to the enemies.

Nobody in the world knew what she had gone through. The pain she had to endure. In the world of Kindred, there's no such thing as support or emotional connection to cope with loss of humanity and everything that it meant to one.