I yawn, stretching out my arms as Hypnos loosens his grip on my consciousness. As I blink in the sunlight, a small smile crosses my face. It doesn’t go away, even as I sit up and greet Einar.
“You seem… how do you say… chipper?” he observes.
I laugh. “Just excited.”
“For competition?” he asks, blue eyes widening.
My smile grows, and he shakes his head with a chuckle. “You have much confidence.”
I laugh along with him. You have no idea.
I walk outside and smell the fresh air. A chill wind prickles the hairs on my exposed skin, but the sun quickly works to warm me up. I shrug off my remaining fatigue and set out into the courtyard where the crocuses are in full bloom. Today is the day.
Yesterday was our last formal day of practice with the musicians. Today, we are invited to a brunch where the instructors will presumably celebrate our hard work and wish us luck. From there, we are to go to the theatre down by the lake and prepare for our performances in the early evening.
Clyde is already complaining about this fact when I sit across from him and Roy in the high lunch hall. “Why are they wasting our time with this bullshit when we could be practicing?” he asks.
Roy rolls her eyes as if to say, If you aren’t prepared by now, you’re definitely not gonna make it.
Clyde sneers, and I avert his attention, “It’s only two or three hours.”
He opens his mouth and closes it again, finally picking up on the implications of his lamentations. Meanwhile, I glance at Roy and feel a flutter in my chest. I look away before she can meet my eyes.
Since we’ve been forbidden to discuss our work, not that I would want to, it is a very boring lunch. The Headmaster says a few words of admiration and encouragement, and then, we are left to awkward socialization, which consists of loud chewing and the clinking of silverware against fine china.
Now and then, I feel Roy’s eyes on me, and I pinch the inside of my lip between my teeth to keep from smiling. “You seem off,” she comments, mistaking the cause of my distress. “Is your song finished?”
No one blinks but me. “It’s as good as it can be at this point,” I answer.
She narrows her eyes but says nothing for the rest of the brunch.
I recall the Headmaster asking the same question the day before, without the underhanded insinuation. Judging by how he now rushes to catch up with me, he was also dissatisfied with my answer. He doesn’t even hide his desperation from my competitors, who are a few paces ahead of us.
“Headmaster,” I greet him as we fall into step heading down the hill in the direction of the lake.
“Mr. Shiron,” he nods. “I hope you enjoyed the lunch.”
“I did, thank you,” I reply politely.
He looks back and forth between me and the lake before he musters up the courage to ask, “Are you confident in your work?”
I purse my lips, considering his question, and shrug. “I suppose I have to be. It’s now or never, right?”
He nods hesitantly, eyes distant but wide with apprehension. “Yes,” he says after an unusually long moment. “It all comes down to tonight.”
I nod, half expecting him to tell me to break a leg, but he is silent the rest of the way to the lake. As are the other instructors and my competitors.
The dome is larger than I could have imagined, rising high above the tree level like a sports stadium–only it is made of stone and wood instead of metal. The Headmaster explained that the dome was designed to amplify sound naturally, without the use of sound equipment; however, it was since updated with modern amenities, including high-def speakers and a retractable vinyl roof. It isn’t up today.
The sun still peeks in through the top of the dome, unobstructed. We pass under it on our way in, and I raise my arms, happy for the warmth. We filter onto the stage through one of the four entrances/exits between the full circle of seats. As we cross over the raised, wooden platform, I look up at the steep rows pressing in on us, and my heart beats go from a gentle tapping to a vigorous thudding.
The Headmaster forbade us from practicing in the theatre, without any explanation–but I think it was to deprive us of any advantage we might find in the sound. Legend has it, Dreysden Theatre has a ‘sweet spot’ where the resonance of notes is the most crisp.
We continue through another entrance/exit, but stop halfway to enter the door alongside the climbing seats. Backstage—or rather ‘alongstage’—is built underneath the seats. The wood ceiling is leveled off in a rising half-arch and painted to reflect a starry night sky. Artificial lights line the lower wall, molded into what appear to be original scones—rusted and worn.
Doors span the other, higher-reaching wall. I can only guess that the rooms beyond would be part of an extension jutting out from the main building.
“Your dressing rooms,” the Headmaster explains. “The musicians will come around shortly to meet with you before each of your performances. In the meantime, I suggest you get dressed.”
I open the door to my room and turn on the electric light–another embedded in a former torch sconce. As it flickers to life, I spot the long tailcoat hanging from a clothing bar on the wall. I pick it up, pinching the silky fabric between my fingers. It appears black until I hold it up to the light to reveal a deep blue. Silver buttons along the vest piece and at the end of the collar glint. I undo the vest and slide my arms into the long, cuffed arms. Then, I turn to the dresser mirror.
I turn myself around, the long tails following in my wake. I ignore my unruly hair, letting the random dark strands stand at odd angles. There’s a dissonance between my fancy dress and wild hair. I keep it because it’s memorable, and in a more conceited light, it suits me.
As I go out to meet with the musicians, I know they agree. They look me up and down, some nodding approvingly while others blush. I smile at them. They ask if I’m nervous, but I wave it off.
“Have you considered my notes?” I ask.
“Yes,” a violist answers, “but Maestro, are you sure this is the piece you want us to perform?”
I turn on her, glowering down at her. “Of course I’m sure.”
This piece is the only one worth playing. How dare she suggest otherwise!
She steps back, voice shaking as she elaborates. “I’m sorry… It’s just that it’s the most complicated piece we’ve played. We’re students too, after all. But we can do it!
“We’ll put on a performance worthy of your masterpiece, Sir,” she adds.
I realize that my eye is twitching and massage the nerve. “Just do it exactly as written. That should be sufficient.”
Shortly after our meeting, the Headmaster invites us out to watch the other performances. I politely decline. I can hear them just as well from my dressing room. No one protests. I assume they think I’m nervous, or even underprepared. The thought makes me chuckle aloud.
Clyde is first; I can tell because his piece is nothing special—no more than a lovesick ballad. The main harmony is weak, by no fault of the musicians, and I have no trouble tuning it out by going over my own crafted melodies. Einar’s is more interesting, using irregular scales in certain sections that add a dynamic clash with previous bars. He takes risks that create an unexpected, yet somewhat whimsical, effect. It could be a soundtrack to an epic fantasy feature, not a modern classic.
I’m not supposed to be last, but by virtue of being absent, it seems Roy is moved up. I wonder if she volunteered or was ordered to. As her composition begins, I look up from the sheet music sprawled across the dresser. I can’t lie: her composition is good—maybe better than anything I have ever produced alone. It seems the Headmaster overestimated me. But that doesn’t matter now; I’m not the same composer I was two days ago. I briefly wonder if Roy’s grandfather will still be pleased with her work after she loses.
I take my time getting up to answer the knock at the door as the final notes of Roy’s piece fade out. A boy dressed in all black—probably a stagehand—twitters nervously about how it’s my turn. He stays behind, leaving me to take the journey through the wing alone. I inhale deeply with every step, taking one last breath just before I emerge onto the stage.
The spotlight catches my eye, glinting off the silver buttons of my coat. Once I blink through it, I survey the musicians waiting in the center of the stage. Some shuffle through the sheet music while others tune their strings. No one plays a note of my piece, as per my instructions.
I look out at the audience, where all of the instructors are spread out among the seats. The Headmaster sits in the very center of one of the sections and nods to me. Meanwhile, my competitors sit close to the stage. Clyde stares off while Einar and Roy are engaged in amicable conversation. I meet Roy’s eye briefly before she is lost in the brightness of the stage lights.
As I take the final step, the musicians go equally still as they do quiet. They look at me expectantly as I pick up the wand on the music stand ahead of me. My heart beats fast. I press my lips together to force back my smile. I raise the wand, taking a long internal breath before the first notes are released.
My piece erupts like a fire, enveloping the stage. Sparks emerge as bows meet strings, lips meet brass, and voices meet the air where notes ignite. I watch the light touch the metal instruments and the polish of others. I feel it spread across my scalp and travel down, illuminating my hair and skin. I open myself up to it, allowing my arms to unfurl as I conduct. As the light sweeps over, I feel it sink in. Heat is seeping through veins and arteries, throughout my body in a torrid tempest, filling my lungs until I can’t breathe.
I look out at the audience. The Headmaster watches, eyes wide in awe, and I smile. It’s only the pre-chorus, but I’ve won!
Not only that, I have written a modern masterpiece–maybe even a magnum opus, the likes of which no other composer has achieved or will ever surpass. What a start to my career!
My eyes travel down to my competitors as a wicked smile conquers my face. It is quickly replaced by a scowl and a quirked brow. Einar and Roy are coming towards me while Clyde is shouting at the instructors. My expression falls, and I look down. My hand is on my chest, and I grunt as the reality of the burning sensation sets in.
I sink to my knees, knocking over the music stand on my way down. The wand falls from my hand and tumbles below the stage. Before my head hits wood, I feel a hand under me. Einar kneels beside me, supporting me, while Roy stands over us. Her eyes are wide, but the deep cocoa of her irises simultaneously quell and stoke the fire in my heart. Einar’s lips move, but I can’t hear him. I only hear Roy.
As I look up at her, a symphony of sweet notes–not mine but hers–possesses my mind. Her song accompanies my final thoughts as darkness sets in and my brilliance begins to fold in on itself. I watch, transfixed, as everything and everyone disappears. In their place stands a cloaked woman. She reaches into her coat and pulls something from within: a white mask. Melpomene places it on her face, staring down at me through the hanging eyeholes. Although my face is numb, I feel a tear rolling slowly down as she raises her arm. Her fingers curl into a fist, and the music—and my heart beat—fades out.
Written in April, 2025.
TooShay 
Leave a comment