The Opera House

393 AC - Nostalgia is a double-edged sword. It brings both comfort and torture. I was still young when I first performed at The Spark. I could have become a diva. The one and only. I could have captivated the crowds, enchanted entire audiences. But fate had other ideas for me, and took me under – or should I say "over" – foreign skies. As I see it open out before, I think of a jewelry box. One with a diamond in the middle, either rough and uncut or at the peak of its art and brilliance. The Spark can look like whatever you want it to look like, and this evening it will be all gold and silk. There will be ribbons for the aisles, and French-style platforms for the balconies. And the stage…

The stage will be a rocky precipice, with a "Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog" vibe. Dramatic and epic. Rrrr. Everything I love. On top will be a glorious frame, poetic even, wrapped in violet ribbons, like a gift box waiting to be opened… And the gift? Me, of course, in one of my most beautiful costumes. I'll appear in a shower of fireworks, and everyone will chant my name. I open my eyes and slip out of my daydream. I'll always be a diva. But now my other duties prevent me from being the celebrity I could have been. Should I regret it? With a smile, I let my fantasies dissolve like snow melting in the sun. There's no comfort for me behind the mask of nostalgia. Just the torture of what will never be.

AURAQ