A rush of cold air sweeps across the back of your neck.

You tense, reaching down and gripping onto the edge of the pale orange cushioned seats.

The doors click shut and the last of the light makes its escape through the rear entrance doors, sending the auditorium and its hushing audience surging into darkness.

All is still.

And then. A single violinist drags her bow violently across the strings, as if to slice the delicate instrument cleanly in two. The one chord is held, allowed to ring out and sweep across the audience, drawing their minds into a sudden frenzy, while their lips freeze in place, trapped in a timeless era of still. The, with the shrill beating of drum sticks on leather, and another couple frenzied chords from the violin, the lights blaze on.

A single man steps out onto the stage, the imposing heels of his black costume boots snapping on the thick, dark stage.

You inhale sharply at the sight of him.

Lin.

Your love.

He turns his head toward you, where he knew you to sit. His thin lips twitch up into a grin. He opens his mouth, giving you permission to release the breath you were holding as the orchestra stays poised for the mans cue.

"How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore..."