angel.
Estelle hugged her tote a little closer to her as she made her way through the narrow door frame. The practice room was small, with an old piano that had a few broken keys up at the very top, but in her years since coming to the opera house she had marked it out as hers. She rather liked it, in truth. Let her start out in a humble setting. One day she’d have the entire stage at her command, and when that happened she could look at her little rehearsal room and laugh. It might even be a fun story to tell.
She pulled a water bottle out of her bag, set her tote aside, and sat at the piano. The back of it was set against a wall-length mirror, so she could watch her expressions while she sang. She gave her hair a quick toss, screwing up her face for a moment -- it was a silly little instinct, something she always did when she was looking in the mirror. Then she put her fingers on the keys and started playing careful scales (the only thing she could play, truly), singing along to warm-up her vocal chords.
She was playing a silent role in the company’s current production, and she had been so busy with rehearsal for that, she was dreadfully out of practice. She hadn’t rehearsed singing in days. It was just unacceptable. She could feel her vocal chords fighting against her, refusing to go past a certain octave. That wouldn’t do -- she had managed to hit at least two notes higher the last time. She paused, preparing to go back ... and then her fingers stopped, hovering over the keys. Was that someone’s voice? “Uh ... Hello?” She swore she heard someone speaking, muffled -- down the hall, or in the next room over. And it almost sounded like they had said her name.