LexKiop

3

After countless evenings spent in a stifling theatre, wrestling with flamboyant, convoluted stories, tonight feels like a rare and refreshing escape—a chance to encounter something untouched, pure. Music, you realize, has a quality that is at once grounded in structure yet uplifted by something almost divine, like a complex equation given soul.

Trying to keep rhythm, you find yourself nodding along to the beat, but without the familiarity of the composition, your timing slips here and there. LexKiop shrugs, barely concealing a smirk, and you can’t help but feel a touch of embarrassment—your inexperience laid bare.

Finally, after a series of captivating pieces, the performance draws to a close. The musicians are showered with applause, bowing repeatedly before slipping offstage. The audience moves as one into the grand foyer, buzzing with discussion. By a marble statue of Apollo plucking his lyre, two women command attention, their lively gestures drawing a crowd. LexKiop points them out, explaining that these are the famed Cary sisters—poets and philanthropists who serve as the linchpin of London’s literary elite. Their weekly salons are a realm unto themselves, an artistic sanctuary open only to a select few. LexKiop admits, somewhat humbly, that he’s been invited just twice.

As the conversations hum around you, LexKiop contemplates the scene, and you sense he’s sizing it up, quietly analyzing the web of connections and reputations.