Oh darling, you wouldn't believe the drama at the Royal Opera House last night! It was a *frightful* night for the ballet world, a *catfight* of epic proportions, all over, you'll never guess, a **tutu**. But, my dears, it was no ordinary tutu. This was the **"Magnificent Seven"**, a spectacular, shimmering creation, hand-beaded by the legendary Mademoiselle Belle Époque and deemed a work of art itself.
The whole brouhaha began with a rather un-ballet-like spectacle: the disappearance of the **Magnificent Seven**! Imagine the panic: an opening night, the lead ballerina, the gorgeous Gabrielle du Marais, about to perform her iconic, breathtaking, **swan-to-bird-like** (no pun intended) solo, and, gasp, no tutu!
Now, the backstage world, as we all know, darling, is as cut-throat as a couture house on the eve of a fashion show. It's an endless parade of **pirouette-ing ambitions, graceful rivalries, and of course, the inevitable drama**, the air always thick with whispered gossip. There were mutterings, rumours of jealous rivals, vengeful fairies, and a **whispering backstage cat with a taste for sequins**. Of course, everyone suspected it was *the* Camilla, Gabrielle's biggest competition and, let's face it, her least favourite fellow ballerina. She was a rather *rough* one, not quite as delicate, not as refined.
Well, imagine the *fury* when they discovered Camilla, darling, looking resplendent in a rather *excessive* new **fuchsia tutu**! I'm told it was *rather* much, a complete disaster of tulle and sequins, fit only for a burlesque show, and definitely not for *La Esmeralda*. The **Magnificent Seven**, however, was **nowhere to be seen**, swallowed whole, darling, into the *voracious jaws* of that **fuchsia abomination**. A *real* nightmare!
They all, darling, gathered in the wings, gossiping like the harpies of mythology. Was Gabrielle, a *true* ballerina, *truly* going to be seen in something so... *garish?* I heard, in hushed tones, whispers of "a tragedy", "a scandal", and of course, "a **tutuclysm**!". There was only one solution, darling. You see, a certain very important (and rather powerful) Duchess (who also happens to have a weakness for *spectacles* like these) was in the audience. Now, nobody wanted to disappoint *her*. So, darling, what did they do? **They put a "tutu" on the *Duchess** herself, naturally. A magnificent creation in **midnight blue velvet, with just a whisper of gold trim**, nothing *too* grand, you understand, she did not want to outshine the poor girl. And it did work! She was a *divine* sight.
The evening, thankfully, continued without incident. The show, of course, was exquisite, with Gabrielle du Marais, as always, *magnificent* and in the most stunning, most delicate of costumes... **one of Camilla's discarded and "less glamorous" tutus**, of course. That one, the **"Pink Princess"**, a pretty but decidedly pedestrian piece in pale pink and feathers. Apparently, *after the performance*, Camilla went on a "pink-feather bender" (as one might say). Rumour has it that she is now sporting her *very own* feather boa and has taken up a part-time job at a bird sanctuary, *something* about having **a "change of heart"** and the *gentle souls* of the feathery creatures needing "someone with a special touch". I'll be honest darling, I haven't the slightest clue about *any* of that but the truth is, one never knows what is really going on with those crazy, fabulous, dancers!