Novelas y relatos de Behind The Scenes

(Author POV) Finally, it was “show time.” Guests were seated on all three floors of the large opera house, while presenters, members of the wedding party, and a few other important guests waited in rooms backstage along with their (admittedly necessary) security details. Each backstage room was equipped with televisions that allowed the occupants to see and hear what was happening on stage. Trusted members of the Movement were operating all of the audio and visual equipment required for the event, and they were also manning each of the doors in and out of the large facility.

CLARISSA The grandeur of Diamond Hall was almost overwhelming as I stood backstage, taking it all in. The ornate chandeliers, the polished marble floors, and the sheer size of the auditorium filled me with both awe and apprehension. This was the moment I had been eagerly expecting in my career; performing on a prestigious stage alongside the renowned violinist, Pierre.

behind Leah Adrian ran after her. *****

Flashes of cameras from the media pit capture the essence of the event. The backstage area is a flurry of activity and anticipation. Models, dressed in various stages of readiness, move gracefully through the space, their elegant gowns and meticulously styled hair reflecting the epitome of beauty and sophistication. Makeup artists and hairstylists meticulously put on the finishing touches, ensuring every detail is perfect before the models step onto the runway.

Anya’s POV The backstage area was a labyrinth of shadow and cold drafts. It was a world of pulleys, thick ropes, and the skeletal remains of old sets, all hidden behind the velvet grandeur that the audience saw from the front. The air here was different, it tasted of dust and nervous sweat.

If the catwalk stage and the adjoining space had small noises of conversation, the backstage side is in chaos. Makeup artists are running with brushes in their hands, hairdressers sweeping pass with combs and curlers, photographers and assistants terrified of their stylists. I'm careful not to run over a short and thin woman sprinting by with some papers in hand. I prefer not to disturb her in her process. Inside it is boiling with tension. I was absolutely loving the energy though, it was bustling with creativity.

Dante mutters. He looks at me. “You ready?” he asks. “No,” I say. “Do it anyway.” — The backstage area buzzes with controlled chaos. Technicians shout over each other about sound levels. Charity reps huddle with clipboards. Security checks and rechecks comms. From behind the curtain, a swell of noise rises and falls as the audience files in—fans, press, industry people, a scattering of faces I recognize from other stages. I pace. Hood up.

“We’re behind schedule.” Behind schedule was the anthem of the night. It carried me forward before my mind could catch up. I let myself be pulled. We moved fast through the narrow corridors backstage, past racks of garments sealed in plastic, makeup artists crouched on stools, models pacing with eyes closed and lips moving silently as if rehearsing bravery. Orders were barked in three languages. Music throbbed faintly through the walls, a distant heartbeat. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded as we turned a corner.

A scene. ***

This was the moment she had been waiting for. As she walked into the lobby, she was immediately struck by the sleek, modern design of the space. The floors were marble, and the walls were adorned with expensive art. The receptionist greeted her with a smile and directed her to the elevators. Sarah took the elevator up to the top floor, where she was met by a sleek glass door with the words "Blackwood Enterprises" etched onto it. As she stepped off the elevator onto the top floor, she was met by a breathtaking view of the city skyline. She had never been this high up before.