On stage, the main character, Shéhérazade, begins a dance where she gives life to all those who will make and unmake her fate one by one. How to not get bitten, how to glide, wave, squirm, and hypnotise your fellow beings to achieve your ends? A crate. A crate of raw, worn down, aged wood. A Pandora's box, carrying the father’s life and the whole universe revolving around Schéhérazade. A box with a variable shape that she manipulates at will, using her own metamorphosis and the one she projects onto others, in order to move along the uncertain thread of her fate. In this cruel fable, it is Scheherazade’s turn to enter the dance, to twist her neck to look at her destiny and find the step that will take her where she wants to go, even if that means corrupting herself in her own eyes. A world with dangerously open doors, where only lies can help you progress, where honesty is synonymous with death, and perhaps to which the devil alone will find the key.
