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In turn, they gaze at the majestic scenery occurring before their eyes. The shadow moves in the minds of the passers-by as it moves on the fluid fabric of the curtain. In the studio, the yellow tinted glass of the light bulb, which has not been changed for years and can be heard slowly burning out, conveys the impression of a small miserable abandoned hunter's log cabin. Yet, with her eyes closed and her ears attentively listening to the notes emanating from the ceiling, it does not matter.
The music carries Olivia away. Dancing waves, she's a boat drifting through them, no longer controlling her moves. With a startling elegant smoothness, her feet caress the time-worn rough floor. Her legs fold and unfold, the dancer grows and shrinks, her arms like wings she flies away. Her fingers brush against the paintings suspended on the walls - surely forgotten by their former owner - and draw in the air landscapes of awe-inspiring adventures. The music stops – thankfully, for the young woman was getting tired. In one step, she crosses the tiny room and dives into the shabby bed.
From explosive nightmares she fled home, letting her family disappear under gunpowder and her childhood tales blend with the shouts of demons.
Although memories could have made her look back, she never did – only allowing symphonies to make her look over the horizon.
