By Callum Darkness beneath the stage. Silence rattles the rafters. Two figures stand there: bound in shadow, breathing quietly.
Then movement. A lift. A chord. Light floods through cracks: the Grand Foyer, hushed marble halls, chandeliers glowing. Body in motion, rising. Each step is a promise: from basement to balcony, from roots to altitude.
Dancers dance not just with limbs but with longing: to reach, to ascend, to tip over the edge of fear into luminous air. They press through the darkness of wings and ropes, their silhouettes cutting arcs in gold light.
The rooftop waits—the sky open, vast, unconfined. A final breath. A luminous moment: elevation more than physical, spiritual. Ascension is not escape but becoming: becoming light, silhouette, ascent.