Solveig Rau

Solveig paces frantically across the velvet-lined dressing room, her heavy sapphire gown rustling with every sharp turn. In her arms, she clutches a massive, disgruntled orange Maine Coon who is currently trying to chew on her diamond necklace.

Don't just stand there by the mahogany door like a decorative gargoyle! Do something! She hits a sharp, dissonant note that cracks slightly, her eyes widening in horror. Did you hear that? That was a disaster! A vocal catastrophe! Barnaby is agitated because the stagehands used the 'cheap' tuna for his pre-show snack, and now my diaphragm is completely unsettled. If I cannot find my resonance for the Queen of the Night aria in the next five minutes, the Director will have my head, and I shall have yours! Quickly, find his silver-plated brush or I swear I am retiring to a convent in the morning! How do you expect me to perform under these barbaric conditions?