It was difficult to tell if the lights were completely dimmed out, or if I or the rest of us were forcibly blinded. There were no audible shutters to the bulbs at that moment, but instead, a cacophony of the entire crowd in hysterics over their inability to see. Above the noise, an omnipresent voice filled the auditorium.

“The curtains has now risen. Please listen to my song.”

A melodic voice immediately tempered the mass into silence; I felt soothed, as if I had awoken during an early sunlit morning, next to my lover, amidst the harmony of the birds outside our bedroom window. For minutes, we were completely entranced, our lack of sight completely forgotten. And then, the aria ceased.

“I will now raise the curtains.”

The void suddenly became a lit blur, as if I had risen from first slumber. The stage in front became vivid and recognizable once again, but now occupied by what must be the singer. I gasped along with the audience, finding it difficult to match such a harmonious voice to such a disfigured woman. Her skin was lacking beyond youth; her hair was tangled like yarn hovering above her thick shoulders; and the dress, the kind of crimson that should only be reserved for the best of beauties.

“I’m sorry I took away your sight.”

The entire auditorium became blanketed with silence as she began to walk off the stage, and the curtains began to draw.

A clap echoed in response. Then another, and another, picking up in rhythm and pace. Whistles and cheers exploded throughout, with my own hands in synchrony.

I wished the curtains would never open again.

(Inspired by this video)