A former singer and her husband reflect on the loss of her self-expression and that of women everywhere and the impact on their individual and collective lives.

« HE: Everything is silent and peaceful on this mountain... and you're nearby.... Of course it's been hard sometimes, but never in all these years together have I felt you waver from me... Why so quiet? / SHE: This magnificent scenery, I was looking at it too. All these years together, difficult, but always together, despite it all. Sort of a miracle, I suppose, but perhaps a miracle others would be afraid of. It's late. The sun's going down, and he goes on working. Why such insistence to the very end? If I tell him to rest, he'll tell me that Mozart followed the score of The Magic Flute on his deathbed. He's been giving me that answer for years. His passion, music, our passion, our love, our bond, as well as our rivalry. And we're still here, still together and devoted to one another in our own way, shy and fierce. Yes, it is peaceful here, and at last we have time for ourselves... dangerous maybe. »