There is a chair here.
All previously established has been lost,
All focus is placed on the chair
Know this.

Like a song stripped of its lyrics
She takes her seat
An unstated nostalgia of habit,
Is there an unplumbed tone in the air, or is that only of my unease?

The chair was not hers, however,
She took a seat,
She gave the space above my forehead a hollow glare,
As if a prompt,

Yet as he takes his first step,
Her eyes tilt down towards him,
The glare constructs itself a purpose from the ash of establishment,
Do her subtle eyes have secreted meaning?

The thought booms loud enough to deafen that tone,
Her appearance is highlighted by this,
As if sand buzzing into patterns on a shaking speaker,
I look for only a second, to see what I can gather.

A young face, yet gray stained hair.
A blazer with large shoulder pads, contrasted by a victorian hoop skirt
A badge adorns her blazer, written in a language unrecognizable by those who speak it.
Or maybe it’s just the handwriting.

He holds still,
Unsure of the situation, and unsure of information needed to understand,
Yet his confusion is met with a full smile,
The tone in the background grows,
As the audience whispers to itself.