Gemotions

The opera house glittered with chandeliers. Alessandro sat in the audience, tense. He'd written "The Fallen Angel" years ago, and now, a new production. The soprano's voice was strong, but the interpretation was all wrong. The music was meant to be tragic, not bombastic.

His hands shook slightly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The tempo was too fast, the phrasing incorrect. His carefully crafted melodies were being ripped apart and rebuilt into something grotesque. He ran a hand through his hair. He felt a deep, profound sense of discomfort. The production was a disaster.