Demize in Immortalis Publishes an Anti Nicolas Column on the Theatre of “Poor Nicolas”
In the shadowed alcoves of Immortalis, where the air hangs thick with the scent of decay and whispered betrayals, Demize stirs once more. Our pages, ever the blade against pretension, turn their edge today upon the sorry spectacle known as the Theatre of “Poor Nicolas”. Ah, Nicolas, that perennial fool, cloaked in his self-woven shroud of martyrdom, presiding over a stage as rickety as his claims to grandeur.
Let us dispense with the charade. This so-called theatre is no bastion of art, no crucible for the soul’s torment. It is a circus of the damned, where Nicolas prances in motley rags, begging pity from an audience that long ago learned to avert its gaze. “Poor Nicolas”, they murmur in the pit, as if repeating the phrase might summon some tragic halo. Poor indeed: poor in craft, poor in vision, poor in the basic dignity required to admit defeat.
Recall, if you dare, the last debacle. Lights flickering like the last breaths of a consumptive, props borrowed from the nearest charnel house, and at centre stage, Nicolas himself, eyes wild with the delusion of profundity. He declaims verses pilfered from forgotten pamphleteers, twisting them into knots of pseudo-revelation. The crowd, those unfortunates who wandered in from the fog, shifts uncomfortably, wondering if the true horror is the play or the man who birthed it.
Demize has no patience for such mummery. Nicolas fancies himself the exiled poet, the visionary scorned by lesser minds. In truth, he is the architect of his own exile, brick by wretched brick. His theatre stands not as a monument to suffering, but as a testament to failure, its walls echoing with the laughter he mistakes for applause. We have watched him stumble from one fiasco to the next, each production more grotesque than the last, yet he persists, driven by a narcissism that borders on the pathological.
Why rail against him now, you ask? Because Immortalis deserves better than this pallid imitation of torment. True darkness needs no beggar’s cup; it commands the void. Nicolas offers scraps, and calls it feast. Let him peddle his pity elsewhere, in the gutters where such wares belong. The Theatre of “Poor Nicolas” is closed for business in the courts of genuine dread. Demize decrees it so.
Turn the page, Immortalis. There are shadows worth pursuing.
Immortalis Book One August 2026