The Blood Opera

I

Wilted flowers were pelted at Katiana Johnson as she took her final bow on the night on the Royal Opera House stage. Though opera audiences were known for being obsessive with their adoration, the thirty minute long standing ovation was the longest she'd received as a young performer.

More flowers littered the stage in front of her, she never understood why something so beautiful as a flower would be killed and given to someone as a gift. Katiana started to leave the stage only thinking of one thing, home. With the fatigue of her three hour role, Katiana smiled and retreated behind the curtain but not before one final flower was thrown. A single rose hit her arm, the thorn just pricked her and one drop of blood she would not noticed fell to the floor.

The backstage crew stirred in to action resetting all the rigging to its positions ready for the next night, but Katiana would not be performing then. She was being flown to Berlin to perform in 'Cendrillon'. Though she would have liked to stay in London longer she had an increasing amount of fans who would find their way to her hotel room and disturb her relaxation and privacy.

After winding through the many levels of the opera house Katiana reached her dressing room. She gazed at her tired face in the illuminescent mirror. Stage makeup was heavy on her young skin, giving her more spots than concealer could hide. She wiped off the foundation and what covered her lips revealing the twenty five year olds bare skin. She dearn't take her eye make up off for she knew that once she left the stage door fans would want photos. Of course she was happy to be in the photos, it's just the conversations with the fans could last a longer time than wanted when all she wanted to do was sleep.

Next she took off her wig, her natural brown curls tumbled down her face. She quickly brushed her hair to an acceptable state and was just about to change out of her costume when a knock sounded on her door.

'Katiana are you decent darling?'. It was Marco Pianti, Katiana's manager and long term best friend.
'Marco, come in!' she said, thinking if only she were quicker she could have left for home already.

'Katiana, tonight was fantastic darling.' he said, but Katiana knew that he was type of man who would only complement you when he wanted to hide something.
'Marco, what are you hiding?' she said, the only thing she hated more than costume corsets was people who beat around the bush.

'Katiana, tsk tsk... I'm offended. I come in here and complement you and accuse me, I' m hurt', he pouted.

'Marco, darling. Please would you tell me what you don't want to tell me?' she said softy.

'You won't like it' he said, his face dropped to a sad expression.
'I don' t like it myself but I told you before that this is why I'm making you go to Berlin tomorrow, because you are not safe here, and if you are not safe I am not safe.' The last part of his rant was with such a worried tone that Katiana knew instantly what he wouldn't tell her.

She slammed her fist on the table in front of her.' It happened again didn't it' she said, tension clear in her voice. Her fast breathing showed Marco how panicked she was becoming. Tears started forming in her eyes.

'Darling, it will be okay. Just be glad I opened the box before you did this time. Tomorrow we will fly to Berlin and you won't have to worry. Nothing will hurt you in Berlin.' he said assuring himself more than her.

'What was in the box Marco' she said sternly.

'I.. I don't want to say', he cried.

'Marco. Tell me now.'

'it's difficult to explain I.. I would rather you looked at it' he almost whispered. He stared at her for a second checking she wanted this. She nodded at him determined to see it through. Marco went back outside the room to the bin in the corridor which held a beautifully wrapped box in blue. Marco whipped of the dirt off his hands as he gave it to Katiana. A single tage with her name on it was attached to the dark red ribbon which had held it in place. Putting the box down she stood readying her self to open it. Breathing deeply she drew the courage and lifted the lid gently.

Inside the box, on top of a layering of rose petals was the easily recognisable flesh of a heart.

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Author's Note

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