Tiered rows of wooden benches are arranged in a semicircle leading down to the open-air stage. Above you, an awning stretches over the back third of the seats, suspended from the top of the colonnade and the third floors of the two small buildings at each end of the stage. The back of the stage is likewise a small building, two stories tall, its roof ornamented with an elaborate balustrade to serve as a rampart or balcony if the scene requires. The awning keeps the sun off the upper seats, or the rain if that happens.
In the center of the front row is the rarely occupied royal box, its awning furled to avoid blocking the view from surrounding seats with no royal heads to cover.
Between that and the stage is the pit, where musicians play and the actors sometimes descend to dance or exchange quips with the audience. Above the stage, two rails allow curtains and scenery to hang, one stretching between doors on the second floors of the side buildings, and one between their roofs. That's known as the godwalk, where those descending from the skies "fly" down to the boards below.
Right now the curtains are open, and the scene against the building behind is set, a city street at night, beautifully drawn with actual oil lamps mounted on the sets to mimic the illumination of the actual streets outside. It's a cunning illusion, a box inside a box, as though you came inside the Odeon and then returned to the street outside.
Beyond the stage, the real city stretches out downhill, lamps being lit as night comes. You find your seat, thankful for a moment that you live in such a beautiful place, Medaris, the Queen of Cities.