“Oh! I cannot believe we have the pleasure of listening to Ophelia, the great pianist, live tonight!”
“No, nor I! I am quite thrilled! She has recently been made a Dame by His Majesty, the King. This is her first performance since the knighting, and we are to be in the audience. I am so very pleased.”
“I simply am too excited for words! I am sure I shall be faint soon.”
An assemblage of over a thousand dignitaries began filing into the auditorium. Gentlemen and women, with their top hats and empire dresses, giving way to each other whilst conversing with feverish, yet polite, enthusiasm. Ushers guided the lost members of theaudience, those too carried away with zeal, to their respective seats, and slowly an anticipating silence fell. Brown hair bobbed around the curtains falling from the black abyss above, peeking at the huge crowd of people gathering. Ophelia still felt ill at the sight of such a number of people grouped to listen to her fumbling her way through her compositions. Walking toward her instrument, she stroked the maple outer rim, feeling the dead tree’s last rasping breath in the grand pianoforte. A sacrifice for the arts, was it not? She stroked the ivory (a 'gift' from a murdered elephant) and ebony, keying middle C, and feeling the vibrating sound waves ripple against her ear drum. The amplitude of ovation crept up as the note died out, and she sat upon the serpent skin seat awaiting the curtains to be drawn.
Without her cognisant decision, her fingers began racing across the keys, her eyes shut, without reading or turning the sheet music before her. She did not need it, though she kept it there for precaution's sake: her insecurities about her gift remained throughout the years. The Muses would possess her, and through her gift, convey to each listener tales of wars and wonderment, of arguments between Gods and mortals, and relating morals to abide by. When Ophelia played, she was both within herself and without, able to perceive herself, her forehead, glistening with sweat, from afar, as well as the notes she struck. At one of the entrances, she saw a young man watching, transfixed. Leaning against the wall, he radiated light, though the auditorium was sparsely lit. He listened intently, ignoring his friends' attempts at gaining his notice.
The concert ended with a resonating applause. For three hours, she had played, yet it felt no more than a few minutes. Blinking confusedly as her consciousness was regained; she looked about the room for the man she had seen before. There was something curious about him, as though he were not truly human, but some Heavenly body. As though he were perhaps magic. The falling of his dark, curling hair on his Grecian cheek, his mesmerising blue eyes sparkling through his olive skin. There appeared to be a glow about him, though he stood in shadow.
She mused over the image of the man she had just beheld. He was certainly handsome. There was no denying that his features were flawless; his cleft chin, straight nose and high cheekbones left him God-like in appearance. And there was that wood-nymph quality she had observed. Ophelia decided she must marry him!
A month passed, during which she could not think but of the man she had seen. Oh, he was perfection itself! But how would she meet him again? There was no occasion for his being at any of her next parties as he must be in a completely different circle to her, as she had inferred from the sight of the total strangers that were his friends. Perhaps he would be at her next recital, but that would afford no opportunity to meet him. "Oh, what a to-do!" she exclaimed to herself in agonised frustration.
Amid an agitated nine and twenty hours of composing a musical ballad detailing the Trojan War, a footman entered, leaving a card which had just arrived for her. She had requested no guests during this time, so the invitation could not be given in person. At last, after another eleven hours, she had finished the piece and had rested. Upon rising, she became aware of the note. It contained an obligation to go to a soirée thrown by her father, Lord Thrace; to introduce her to a family recently arrived from America. Rolling her eyes, she called a nearby maid to send her "yes" promptly.
