Bella took a deep breath and then another.
She signaled to the sound tech, a young man with headphones and a clipboard. He nodded and pressed a button.
The music began.
Soft at first, a single piano note, lingering in the air like a question. Then a cello joined, low and warm, wrapping around the silence. Then strings, building, layering, creating a melody that was both sad and hopeful, both gentle and powerful.
Samantha had mixed it herself. Hours of work, adjusting levels, balancing instruments, making sure every note was perfect.
Bella closed her eyes.
She remembered the choreography. The turns, the reaches, the falls, the rises. She had practiced until her muscles ached and her feet bled. She knew this dance. She knew it in her bones.
She opened her eyes and took her position. The curtain rose.
The stage was bathed in soft, golden light. Dust motes floated in the air, catching the glow like tiny stars. The audience was a sea of shadows, faces blurred, eyes watching.
