HOW do you reconcile a belief that you have the all-important star quality with the seeming reality that nobody else agrees?

Rosie Fleeshman’s Narcissus primps and preens in front of her light-studded mirror, but all’s not what it seems in this spoken-word piece.

Fleeshman’s script jumps back and forth between the here and now, spanning Narcissus’s desire to act from her teenage years to the present day.

The through-line is there, although sometimes the script doesn’t flow so much as allow a pause before the next monologue. Instead, Sue Jenkins’s direction links the piece with its surroundings to ground Fleeshman’s performance more.

It’s a good insight into the Narcissan mind that she begins the show by mocking the chaise longue with all its psychiatry connotations, but gradually returns to this piece of furniture for comfort during her confessionals.

Differing from most rising-star narratives, Narcissus’s career isn’t sealed with a one-woman show like a wide-eyed engenue from La La Land. Instead she’s cast in a sea of other aspiring monologues.

Considering this show is fresh from a run at the Edinburgh Fringe, it’s easy to see how the play could bleed into reality, but Fleeshman should rest assured in the words I heard echoed by fellow audience members on our way out: “it’s too real”.

Fleeshman is caught on a feeling that strikes a chord with many, giving her plea to stop comparing ourselves to others a tangible soft, caring tone. If Narcissus can turn that care to herself, she’ll be giving her best performance yet.