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Chapter 1:- I Hate the Opera
The Opera house.
Forever echoing in its great halls the voices of hundreds of singers, and of course, thousands of cheers and encores of those so stricken by the performance they beg for more.
Dust. Thats all I remember from a performance. The smell of old lady perfume and dust gathering on the rafters.
Of course I should remember my parents stunning performances, or the old man who likes to check out the questionable dresses some ladies like to wear, or even the waiter who steals the silver wear in the restaurant in the downstairs.
But no. All I remember is the dust and the smell.
I have been going to the opera my entire life. you could say I was raised in the dusty waiting rooms, and my grandma's old perfume as she holds me when my parents are doing a duet.
I Hate The Opera.
I have tried to ignore my feelings of absolute loath for this place. But every time I have to walk through the huge doors I feel nauseous. Sick to my stomach.
For no matter of wowing or amazing voices can keep me from seeing their eyes.
their eyes on me.
I am the daughter of two of the most famous opera singers. Ysabella and Thomas Archeletta.
I was supposed to be the voice of the century. Thats what the media called me.
What a let down they got. I can speak as much as a bullfrog can belt out a high A sharp. Much less sing.
It was an accident and no matter what my parents try and do i will always be a shame to my family in the media.
Being as famous as I am you would know the amount of stares that I get, the amount of whispers whispered behind my back. its like they act like i am deaf not mute. They act like I can't hear their complaints. Their idiotic remarks saying I am nothing.
well the people I call idiots, are right about that. I am nobody. I am just the medias stress relief. everybody wants to read about how much of a failure I am.
Well I guess I failed before I was even born.
I hate the Opera.
Nothing but old lady perfume and dust gathering on the rafters.
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