You see dust catching in the light as step through the doorway. Your eyes adjust, not to dark or to light but to it all. Spears of white split pockets of shadow; sculpted by a master's hand, marbled like rock layered through millennia. You wonder, for a moment, if that is all there is. There are no colours beyond the monochrome. You look down at your hands and still see the flush.
Before you are a collection of circular tables, arranged with the organic precision of a biological process. Sprouting from the centre and enveloping the space. To your right is a wall of curtain, defined only in the way the folds barely swallow light. There is no end. A stage emerges from the black and grasps at the tables.