A freshly pressed suit, a red velvet opera cloak. A jewel-encrusted opera mask, and an invitation to the opera, for “one must bring a mask”. An empty seat, in the very front of the balcony. A broken champagne glass, and a trail of glittering sequins.
A dark room, lit only by a single candle. A richly brocaded, velvet curtain. The sound of a large audience, cheering. A middle-aged woman, sitting alone, her eyes wide with amazement. A couple, arguing, with a single word, repeated again and again.
The sound of a high C, sung by a soprano. A handsome tenor, with a flower in his hair. A woman standing alone, crying. The sound of a gunshot, in a crowded opera house. The death of a nobleman, in the middle of the performance.
A black, feathered opera hat, resting on an art deco table. A black dress, worn by a young woman. A ticket, for the last seat in the last row, with the number “27” written on it. A small, black box, sitting on a table, with the word “Roses” written on it in big red letters.
A tenor’s final, soaring note, piercing through the silence. The sound of a woman’s laugh. The scent of sweat, rising from the audience. A woman, dressed in a slinky gown, and a man, in a tuxedo. A woman, in the middle of a duet, and a man, standing beside her, with a look of pure resolve on his face.