The Violet Hour
Prologue - Jasmine
The graduate artists at Julliard’s American Opera center are no longer gossiping about my meteoric career rise. They now pool in huddles visible from Julliard’s glass frontage that overhangs Broadway’s frenzy. A third celebrated but fallen musical icon died mysteriously, during the ghostly fog-heavy summer that curls around New Yorkers. Our brilliant teachers who had commented all season on the crop of talented voices at the American Opera Center, now murmur nervously about the deaths of the great musicians who were destroyed by alcoholism, depression and later something far darker than their own inner torments.
I alone know what is happening and why these deaths occur at the violet hour.