November 1, 1892

To whom it may concern,

As a long-standing patron and the sole hereditary owner of Box Five, I have now sent two letters kindly requesting a change in situation at the theatre - both of which have been ignored. I caution you not to let this final communication sit, idle and insulted.

If I find evidence of anyone in my box again, regardless of my own attendance or not, I shall bring about such a scandal the theatre will go entirely out of business. Consider this a gentleman's promise.

Additionally, Ms. Voss is meant to be the prima ballerina of this Einrichtung. I do not pay to see her nitwit understudy traipse around like a newborn fawn. If there are other, more pressing engagements that require her attention, then I suggest she step down entirely before someone makes the change more permanent.

As recompense for your slights, I now demand an entirely new costume be designed for Ms. Voss in red for the final showing of Faust this season. I grow tired of the blue. If the others wish not to look bumbling fools, then they will be clever enough to match her.

My indulgence of your whims has run out. I should hate to reveal the true nature of the voice behind the masque.

I shan't ask, nicely, again.

G.P.

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@"Sophia Voss"

  

This was now the third letter, and its contents caused turmoil within the ballet company. Enough to corral Sophia into the company owner Seamus’s office, along with their choreographer Walton, their costume designer Missy, their accountant Edmund, and another ballerina Kara. It was Kara who found the letter and devolved into inconsolable tears. They were all here to answer the question: what should we do with this?

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s easier to hide behind anonymity when you know nothing of what you’re talking about.” Sophia simmered in anger again, feeling particularly bristled at the old man choreographer’s insistence that they listen to the demands. An idea that every part of Sophia’s being rejected, since this attack felt quite personal. “You can stand to improve the height of your entrechats quatres darling,” she noted absently as she read the letter again, ignoring the girl who deflated in her seat, “But I would hardly call you a newborn fawn,” she scoffed.

“This man is threatening us, shall we not call the ministry?” Kara keened, to which every other person in the room retorted every brusque and colorful iteration of ‘no’ and ‘are you mad’.

“You think the ministry will give a single bollock about an ornery poltergeist or… whoever this is?” Seamus inquired, to the tittering of the costume designer.

“Red clashes terribly with the set, it has no continuity for the feel of the performance at all,” Missy sulked, taking a deeply injured sniff. “And for Faust on Thursday? For all the girls? This shall be expensive…”

“We are bleeding money on overhead for this phantom caller as it is,” groaned Edmund, whose temples looked very red from all the rubbing he did in circles from his migraine. “We shouldn’t have added the show during bloody Nutcracker season. The losses from this box easily add up to some 20 galleons a year…, that is before word gets out of any scandal…”

“Well we can’t risk putting someone in that box again,” Seamus’s fingers ran thoughtfully over his mustache, and Walton muttered in agreement, “Ah no, the state of them…” Sophia threw the men a curious look.

“What did he do to Mister and Missus Hale?” she probed again, to which all the men immediately looked uncomfortable. Shifting and sidelong glances told her, before the resounding silence, that they wouldn’t answer.

“Nothing worth mentioning to a lady,” Edmund finally offered, very unhelpfully. Sophia finally lost her graciousness. She snatched the letter and stood, driving everyone around her to stand as well.

“What are you doing?” Seamus looked at her warily from behind his chair, as though she might explode.

“What does it look like? I am responding,” she took a fresh piece of parchment and quill from his desk, and made an attempt to leave the room with the offending letter. At the range of complaints issued, she waved them off, shoving past. “I am part owner of this establishment,” she went on crossly, throwing Seamus a glare because this was a ‘detail’ the man seemed to often forget. “And thus equally responsible for this company’s success. The letter is meant for me, and I will not tolerate a cad thinking he can wreak hell on us. The costumes will stay the same… And we’ll sort out the rest.”

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GP,

Ordinarily it is a pleasure to hear from our wonderful patrons, and I do apologize if you feel slighted by unanswered letters but these ‘requests’ have been most unusual. More unusual that we could find neither a clear signature nor obvious return address, and our records only show a purchase of Box Five patronage some two centuries ago.

But now you’ve posed a clear threat to our theater, and I am compelled to respond. You see, your requests cause unreasonable hardship for our fledgling dance company. Our costumes are already finished, and costly to change. Moreover, red is simply not my color. Or may I interpret your request as an intention to furnish these costs yourself?

As for dear Kara, I have trained her myself since meeting her in Vienna some ten years ago. It is true that she lacks some of the maturity I possess in her phrases of dance, but she can’t help that she is a child. Her technique is exquisite and will only improve through life experience. More importantly, she cannot grow if not given the opportunity. I take this responsibility quite seriously, training the next generation for performances that embody the epitome of beauty and art... And I daresay, I do not take kindly to blind commands from those who do not spend their entire lives as entrenched in this fine art as I am.

Although I do appreciate how passionate you feel about the ballet. Perhaps we may find a middle ground that is amenable to the both of us. May we meet? 

Regards,
Sophia Voss

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The following 1 user Likes Sophia Lissington's post:1 user Likes Sophia Lissington's post
   Gilbert Prusseneit

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thank you gin for the set<3