The cello moaned it's soft and sad lullaby to Lily as she stroked it with the bow. Her navy-blue eyes continuously fluttered as her brow wrinkled in concentration of this difficult Mozart piece. A soft tendril of her bleached blonde hair fell from it's sophisticated bun, and tickled the slope of her nose. Her face flushed as she finished the song and the audience gave it's usual standing ovation. She didn't do this for the fame, fortune, or attention. She did this because playing the cello pumped through her bloodstream, it was her narcotic, her addiction, her love, her passion, her lust, her desire, her absolute everything.
As she picked up her sheet music and walked off the stage, she couldn't shake the burning sensation in the back of her neck that someone was watching her. Oh, surely people were watching her, she had just possibly gave one of the best performances of her life. However, this watching was the pleasant, pleased feeling she always got after a show. This one felt... Personal. And not in a good way. Her eyes quickly scanned the hallway outside her dressing room. No movement or signs of life except for Rickie, the head stage crew member. He didn't even acknowledge her, probably didn't even notice her. He was constantly barking commands into that headset of his. Geesh.
