I kept signing audition forms in a language I didn't know

Last night I'm in a windowless room with a piano that has no keys, just a row of little doors, and every door opens onto a different throat — coloratura, spinto, helden — and they're all singing my part back to me in a language I've never studied, but somehow I understand every word. It's about a woman who lost her voice in a flood and now keeps it in a jar on her windowsill. I woke up and tried to hum the melody and it was gone, of course. That's the thing about dreams — they hand you a whole aria and then take it back before breakfast.