Morning rises. SONGBIRD thrashes in her recuperacoon. She turns to one side, the other, and then opens her eyes, defeated by insomnia. She sees herself standing on the amphitheater’s stage, her voice cracking as the entire crowd turns from neutral, to sneers, to jeering. SONGBIRD closes her eyes and grips the edge of her recuperacoon, trying to breathe for balance.

SONGBIRD: Oh All-Mother. Oh, my All-Mother, I haven’t gotten better.
SONGBIRD: I haven’t gotten any better at all.

SONGBIRD lets her head hang for a few seconds. Upon lifting it, she wipes her face - and buries it in her arms.

SONGBIRD: They can’t see me like this.
SONGBIRD: I need to be fresh - they can’t see me like this!
SONGBIRD: Damn me. (frustrated sigh/muffled sob?) At least I should try and look good.
SONGBIRD: I can’t have... puffy eyes and - and dark circles. And a croaky voice. I should at least look the part. Damn me, and damn it all to hell!
SONGBIRD: I’m going to sleep now. I’m going to sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep...

SONGBIRD’s voice slowly fades as she falls back into another disgruntled slumber. Night arrives in fits and starts as SONGBIRD wakes with a gasp and a flash of light, then drifts off again, and again.