Subject: An evening at the opera Where: Theater Royal in Covent Garden. Who: Marguerite York Warnings: TBD Open to: all
Sitting alone in the box that had been reserved in her husband's name, Marguerite couldn't but feign a yawn of fabricated boredom. The opera was interesting enough, but the casting left to be desired. The soprano especially. No doubt Sabana would have been much better suited for the role, what with her uncanny ability to weather the good and the bad and come out shining even out of a revolution that should, by all rights, have been the end of her.
Marguerite sighed, turning to gaze away from the stage. Knowing the arias and the ending left her with no choice but to survey the room at large and even that proved uneventful. By the time she thought of leaving before the end of the opera, the impulse was already thwarted by a figure entering her box.
Seeing who it was, she couldn't help smile over the chorusing voice strangling the last breath on the gentle notes of Il core vi dono. "Truly," she greeted, "you are the last person I thought I would see here tonight."