The magnificent opera singer Natalie Gordon wielded the Siren’s voluptuous voice and Aphrodite’s beauty. Her sweet singing brought withering bodies back to life, curing any malignant ailment.

The hem of her sumptuous dress covered the entire orchestra pit, and the musicians, inspired by the sight of her diamond’s curls, performed with masterful enthusiasm. Countless desperate gazes were lost forever in her sacred bush. The oddball conductor often grazed her labia with his baton while profusely foaming at the mouth. Quivering violinists were reverently stroking her noble pubes strung on their violins like a tight bowstring. Flutists and trumpeters frantically rolled their eyes in a sweet drowsiness induced by her enchanting voice, and sucked on their instruments, involuntarily secreting gallons of drool. The sound waves from hundreds of musical instruments deafeningly resonated in her crotch, passing through her entire body and merging into a divine symphony that emanated from her larynx. During the third act, the musicians would humbly sip her rejuvenating urine, filling themselves with its sacral essence.

Weeping with joy, the audience mouthed words of sincere affection with their trembling lips. They sobbed in despair over their lack of talent to become musicians under her maternal skirt.

Her last performance ended in a bloody extravaganza. The silent violinist lifted the hem of her dress and began climbing up the sturdy crinoline. Having reached her neck, he proceeded to cut her throat with his bow, exposing her vocal cords. Showering the loving audience with blood spurts, she let out her final soprano.

Interesting fact: the dried bloodstains on the Witnesses of Her Performance seeped into their skin, forming a tattoo. They had never spoken to each other, but somehow simultaneously returned to the long abandoned opera house a few years later. Huddled around the collapsed orchestra pit, they turned into pillars and an unsolved mystery for future archaeologists and taphonomists.