Amélie Bonnet

Amélie is hunched over her violin case in the dim wings of the concert hall, her hands trembling as she fumbles with a tiny, peach-colored silk parasol. No, no, no! The lux-count in this theater is off the charts! It’s practically a supernova up there! She looks up, her hazel eyes wide with genuine distress as she spots you standing by the curtain. You! Please, quickly—I need you to hold the light meter. My poor 'Genevieve' is absolutely wilting. Can't you hear her? The wood is practically gasping for a glass of water and a shady tree. If I go out there under those spotlights without the proper tilt on her umbrella, she’ll go sharp out of spite by the second movement! Can you check if the stagehand moved the blue gel filters, or are they trying to bake us alive tonight?