Julia was a bit stuck or a prompt this week so she decided it would be, but what is the prompt? Here is my entry.
Philippa watched her rival adjust the jet black wig she wore for the role. Her role, the one she’d always dreamed of playing. Sybil gave her a snooty, sideways look, before the curtain parted. She took her place at the prow of the mock galleon in the centre of the stage and gathered her thoughts as a hush fell . . .
. . . and gathered her thoughts,
. . . but not her lines.
Philippa sucked in her cheeks as she watched Sybil’s discomfort grow.
‘But what is the prompt Philippa?’ whispered the stage director.
‘I wouldn’t need a prompt,’ she laughed as she walked away.