TITLE: DEVIANCE
SUMMARY
DEVIANCE follows two young magicians who discovers their master’s greatest secret: a diamond pocket watch capable of allowing its bearer to enter another person’s memories. Through the watch, the young magicians do not merely observe the past, but experience it from within; feeling what it is like to be the master, to inhabit his perceptions and sensations as their own.
Authors Note
DEVIANCE is not a retelling of Adam and Eve, but a continuation of the same mythos. Like the original Fall, the consequence is both punishment and self-awareness inherited for the pursuit of knowledge, marked here by scars, and the irreversible loss of innocence that follows once they realise the true cost of the masters trick.
CONTENTS
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CHAPTER I – DESCENT
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CHAPTER II – DECEPTION
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CHAPTER III – DEVIANCE
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CHAPTER I – DESCENT
EXT. VERSAILLES GARDENS – ORANGERIE – DAY
A lone ray of sun cuts through. The orange tree shivers, its trembling leaves scattering gold.
Beneath it, a YOUNG LADY stands still, studying the fruit.
She reaches up.
Her fingers close around a single ORANGE.
It comes away easily.
She turns.
The YOUNG MAN kneels in the grass, brushing soil from a leather-bound book. He opens it. Its brittle pages crackle in the silence. He traces the words with his finger.
YOUNG MAN (reading)
“Memory is a circuit. A trick of light and nerve.”
The pages are cramped with sketches, strange glyphs threaded between diagrams of the human brain.
He runs a hand over the ink, whispering as he reads aloud:
YOUNG MAN (reading)
“Harness the current, and you may walk where another has walked.”
The YOUNG MAN looks at the POCKETWATCH in his palm. Its fractured diamond face glitters in the sun, throwing shards of rainbow across the soil.
The book’s diagrams show the watch’s inner workings — copper coils wrapped like nerves, a diamond prism at the center.
YOUNG MAN (reading)
“This is no watch. It is a vault.
An engine that runs not on gears or springs…
The faint HUM grows louder in the YOUNG MAN’S hand. Sparks dance along the seams of the brass case, stinging his skin. He grips it tighter, breathes shallowly.
CLOSE ON – THE POCKETWATCH.
Its hands begin to spin wildly, faster and faster.
The buzz deepens into a low roar.
YOUNG MAN (reading)
…but on the same current as the human mind.”
The YOUNG MAN’s reflection splits across the diamond face, each blinking out of sync, each caught in different moments of his own past.
YOUNG LADY (reading)
Perception is everything
Behind him, the light glances off the orange tree, catching briefly in its leaves a soft sparkle of white, before shattering back into the watch.
YOUNG LADY (reading)
It is what makes us wondrous
and is what also destroys us
YOUNG LADY (reading)
Those who look for the secret seldom search for the scars
YOUNG LADY (CONT’D)
For once you truly see,
you will learn there is no unseeing…
YOUNG LADY (reading)
…for the real truth hides,
in the Fall.
For an instant, a green flash cuts through the light. The CAMERA PUSHES THROUGH the watch face, pulled into a vortex of fractured time.
A sudden GUST OF WIND ruffles the pages. They flip rapidly, notes blurring together.
The book SLAMS OPEN on the final page.
The writing is LARGE. UNEVEN. SCORED DEEP into the paper, as if pressed by a trembling hand.
THE MASTER (VO)
To see is permitted. To perform is forbidden…
MATCH CUT TO:
CHAPTER II – DECEPTION
INT. GRAND GUIGNOL THEATRE – AUDITORIUM – NIGHT
Paris. Velvet curtains. Flickering gaslight. Shadows coil along gilded walls.
The CAMERA TRACKS through the audience; gentlemen in coats, ladies in silks, until it settles on a YOUNG LADY in the front row, eyes wide, lips parted.
ON STAGE – Beside the potted tree sits a TABLE draped in deep velvet.
THE MASTER, regal and razor sharp, steps forward, positioning himself at the very front of the stage. The air seems to bend around him, his posture commanding, his elegance worn smooth by decades of performance.
One hand slips into his pocket, the other gestures toward the withered orange tree.
THE MASTER
Mesdames et Messieurs…
Allow me to show you the alchemy of perception.
He gestures. The crowd leans forward.
The oranges SHIFT, their skin glowing, rippling, until they shine with a golden sheen.
Not fruit. Not illusion. GOLD.
Gasps ripple through the living room.
The YOUNG LADY in the front row clutches one. It CLINKS in her hand — cold, heavy, solid. She passes it to the YOUNG MAN, who stars in disbelief.
The GOLDEN ORANGES tremble… and SHIFT again. Diamonds bloom from every branch.
Butterflies drift out, crystalline wings refracting light, alighting on jewelled fruit.
The MASTER lifts one hand high, basking in victory.
The other remains in his pocket.
BENEATH THE STAGE —
A DARK DROP slips through a seam in the floorboards.
It lands soundlessly on the timber below.
Another drop follows.
Then another.
Above, applause swells.
YOUNG LADY (VO)
And I believed in that moment,
Not in God. Not in man.
But in something else entirely.
The crowd sits frozen, stunned.
Not a cheer. Not a breath.
Complete silence
He bows, precise, economical.
INT. GRAND GUIGNOL THEATRE – BACKSTAGE
The YOUNG LADY steps into a vast space filled with clocks of every shape and size.
At the centre stands a gigantic mechanical tree, its ticking slow and rhythmic.
From its branches hang lightbulbs — old, filament-thin, unlit.
At the heart of the tree — a DIAMOND POCKETWATCH.
The YOUNG LADY takes a step closer. The lights go out.
INT. GRAND GUIGNOL THEATRE – AUDITORIUM – NIGHT
THE MASTER
Ladies and gentlemen…
A magician is not a deceiver of the eye,
but a student of nature’s secrets.
A nervous laugh cuts the silence, sharp and lonely.
It dies instantly.
Scattered applause begins — hesitant, uncertain. Hands clap, then falter, falling into silence again.
He turns toward the YOUNG LADY.
She meets his gaze.
Neither looks away.
YOUNG LADY (VO)
That night, I truly saw. And from that moment on, I knew I could never unsee.
The ticking swells, brighter, harsher.
INT. GRAND GUIGNOL THEATRE – BACKSTAGE
The lights RETURN.
The CAMERA drifts slowly upward.
The POCKETWATCH at the centre of the tree is missing.
Silence.
The lights go out.
THE MASTER (V.O.)
The fall does not begin with the fruit.
It begins with a voice
that teaches the eye how to see.
CHAPTER III – DEVIANCE
INT. THEATRE OF WONDER – BACKSTAGE – NIGHT
Silence settles.
Beneath it, a faint, uneven TICKING — patient, insistent — threads the dark. Footsteps approach, then fade.
In the half-light stands a GIANT ORANGE TREE.
Magnificent.
Its branches rise and spread, heavy with fruit. Dozens of oranges glow softly among the leaves, their warmth pressing back against the surrounding shadow.
The ticking continues.
INT. GRAND GUIGNOL THEATRE – NIGHT
High in the GALLERIES, THE MASTER sits alone.
Still. Upright. Watching.
Below, THE YOUNG MAN steps forward.
He takes the stage with quiet confidence.
The theatre waits.
The ORANGE TREE dominates the space behind him, radiant beneath the chandeliers.
THE YOUNG MAN
Memory is a circuit. A trick of light and nerve
A pause.
THE YOUNG MAN (CONT’D)
Harness the current, and you may walk where another has walked.
He gestures toward the tree.
THE YOUNG MAN (CONT’D)
This is no watch. It is a vault
The Young Man reaches into his coat.
He draws out the POCKETWATCH.
It dangles from its chain, suspended in the light.
THE YOUNG MAN (CONT’D)
An engine that runs not on gears or springs…
At the edge of the stage, THE YOUNG LADY stands still.
In the galleries, the Master does not blink.
The Young Man raises one hand.
SNAPS his fingers.
BLACKOUT.
INT. GRAND GUIGNOL THEATRE – NIGHT
LIGHTS UP.
The tree is still there.
But now—
IT IS EMPTY.
Bare branches.
No oranges.
No fruit on the floor.
A low MURMUR ripples through the hall — confusion, anticipation, a sense of loss that arrives too quickly to be named.
High above, the Master’s jaw tightens.
The YOUNG LADY steps forward.
She approaches the tree.
As she passes the trunk, her fingers dip briefly into shadow.
When the Young Lady turns back, an ORANGE rests in her palm.
She crosses to the YOUNG MAN.
They stand close.
The exchange is careful. Controlled.
She places the orange into his hand.
YOUNG MAN
…but on the same current as the human mind.
As her fingers release it—
The surface SHIFTS.
Colour deepens.
The skin stiffens.
The orange HARDENS INTO GOLD.
The Young Man smiles.
He lifts the GOLD ORANGE, rolling it between his hands, displaying it beneath the chandeliers.
Light fractures across its surface.
Polished. Perfect. Complete.
A ripple of applause begins—
Then falters.
A beat.
A VOICE cuts through the silence.
MAN IN CROWD
Where are the diamonds?
Laughter breaks out.
The gold glints in the Young Man’s hand.
The Young Man lowers the fruit.
The smile fades.
He looks to THE YOUNG LADY.
YOUNG LADY (reading)
Perception is everything
She meets his gaze.
Then she turns to the audience.
YOUNG LADY (reading)
It is what makes us wondrous
and is what also destroys us
Her voice is steady.
Silence spreads.
She steps forward slightly — still not fully in the light.
YOUNG LADY (CONT’D)
Those who look for the secret seldom search for the scars
A pause.
She lifts her eyes toward the galleries — toward THE MASTER.
YOUNG LADY (CONT’D)
For once you truly see,
you will learn there is no unseeing…
His hand tightens on the rail.
YOUNG LADY (CONT’D)
…for the real truth hides,
in the Fall.
Together, they step forward.
Side by side. Into the BRIGHTEST POOL OF LIGHT on the stage.
The room stills. The YOUNG MAN and the YOUNG LADY CLOSE their eyes together .
Slowly, deliberately, they remove their coats.
Fabric falls to the floor.
Their bodies are revealed.
On the YOUNG MAN:
burns along his arms,
bruises shadowing his ribs,
scars from restraints and failed escapes.
On the YOUNG LADY:
older wounds, finer scars,
marks carried longer, deeper.
Sparkling white light POURS IN through the stained-glass windows.
The glow surges upward, racing along every wound.
Her scars burn brightly, the wounds crystallise.
Where the cuts run deepest, shards of DIAMOND stitched tight, pressed through the skin,
catching the fractured light spilling from the chandeliers above.
The tree now glimmers faintly.
Light spills from its branches, refracting through both bodies, scattering softly across the walls and ceiling.
The YOUNG MAN and YOUNG LADY lock hands.
They OPEN their EYES.
The Applause ERUPTS, thunderous and uncontrolled. The sound crashes through the theatre.
High above, the Master winces, his hand is still buried in his pocket.
The YOUNG MAN and YOUNG LADY remain motionless in the light.
It pours in from every direction now
through the windows,
from the chandeliers overhead,
from the tree
Behind them, their SHADOWS stretch across the wall, lengthening, intertwining.
For a moment, their silhouettes combine and stretch across the wall behind them: first the MASTER’s form, then branching wider, until it resembles the TREE itself, shimmering in the glow.
They do not look at the crowd again. Only at each other.
The lights go out.
THE END
