1955, Rapture
"No, no, no! This is all wrong," raged Cohen for what seemed the millionth time, "Measure 42 reads 1 a 2, not 1 and 2! Do it again from the beginning, and count for once in your life!"
Elizabeth bit her tongue in order to stop an angry retort and obeyed, this time paying extra attention to the timing.
Cohen was, after all, famous for a reason. Or rather infamous. She supposed that one did not become the best artist in Rapture without being both an eccentric perfectionist as well as being, frankly, absolutely insane.
However, insane or not, he was her teacher and the man that had made the name Elizabeth known throughout Rapture.
And so, she listened to all of his critiques, which, most of the time, were more like the ravings of a mad man. Which wasn't too far from the truth, in all honesty.
However, despite the tedious and frustrating work of being Cohen's protégé, she wouldn't trade it for the world.
Sure, she often came home from rehearsals and performances wanting to pull her hair out from its roots or sob uncontrollably, but at least, despite her difficulties, she was living her own life.
She had her own apartment payed by her own job (she would often remind herself of this on nights when she could hear her neighbors shouting through the paper thin walls).
For her, the independence to live her own life was worth the hours of Cohen's madness and the exhausting work of being a performer. She was living her own life, her own dream.
She was known throughout the city, not for being the poor, unfortunate Anna, but for being Elizabeth, Rapture's very own Songbird.
She finished the song and waited anxiously for his response. The rehearsal could be over in minutes or hours, depending on if he decided to be particularly fastidious that day.
"That was… acceptable. For now," Cohen dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
She breathed a sigh of relief and quickly gathered her sheet music. Cohen had no patience for dwaddling.
"I expect nothing less than perfection tomorrow!" He called after her quickly retreating form.
As soon as she was out of earshot, she gave a particularly loud huff of annoyance. Two and a half hours straight of rehearsals, she thought, and all I get is "acceptable"! Well, at least he didn't make me practice the entire night, she consoled herself.
She hurried home on the tram to her tiny, rundown apartment in Artemis Suites, which was a far cry from the luxury Cohen lived in at Mercury Suites. However, home was home, and at least she could call it her own.
The short ride to her apartment felt like forever after a long, grueling rehearsal and as she entered Artemis Suites, she felt ready to collapse.
She tossed her folders of sheet music and notes on the kitchen table carelessly and drug herself to to her bedroom. She sat at her vanity, wiping away the remnants of her makeup away with a towel and brushed through her previously curled hair, which had deflated throughout the long day.
She stared into the mirror, noticing her dark circles and bloodshot eyes. She let out a deep sigh, wondering if all the stress and work was worth the life she lived.
Five long years of building a life and a reputation for herself in the undersea city was certainly not easy, especially when she started from scratch.
It had taken her three years just to scrape together enough money to book passage for the voyage below. At first, the city was something out of a dream. The glow of the neon lights reflected off the glass walls and the masses of people, she had never seen anything like it before.
But now, the citiy's glow was dimmed. She wasn't sure if it was because, after living in the city for so long, she had taken off her rose colored glasses and saw the reality. Or perhaps it's was the unnerving changes she had begun to notice around her.
She had heard whispers here and there around the city. ADAM was taking hold of its users and driving them to insanity, said some. Rapture is collapsing and uprisings are beginning to take hold of the city, said others.
Elizabeth already knew there was conflict in Nature, despite Ryan's attempts to censor it from the media. She terrified- no concerned, no... terrified of the foreboding feeling she got when she heard daily reports of the death and decay in her city.
She did not know why, but sitting there, staring into the mirror of her vanity and contemplating the state of her underwater home, she felt like she was drowning.