The final notes of the symphony swell into the air like a divine farewell.
The orchestra soars with one last crescendo that rattles the walls and sends a tremor through the velvet-lined seats. As the conductor's baton stills and the lights slowly rise back to their full brightness, the audience explodes into applause.
Thunderous, feverish, rapturous applause.
And above the rising sounds of reverent joy, from their private, opulent balcony, Vaela and Thalos stumble back into their seats, giggling and huffing for breath.
Her lipstick is smeared. His collar is twisted. Her hair is tousled and wild, and his shirt only has two of its buttons done.
Breathless, flushed, and giggling like two naughty teenagers sneaking back into a classroom after skipping detention for a make-out session in the janitor's closet.
