She looks at the score. Every Italian lyric is seized, intonations and expressions are scattered and lost. She stands behind the heavy velvet smoothness of a curtain that cloaks her from blinding lights, shields her from imminent applause. Still.
Beyond that curtain the wooden floor. The cold floor where she is due to stand. Can she step into the dark at this very moment, do her soprano justice? On the stage that faces the audience, can she face all those faces facing her?