A Tragedy

The tone had mellowed at The Party. The string quartet was still playing under the marquis, but the mellowing was something else. The Professor was rolling pipe smoke around his mouth. He breathed out through nostrils that flared. The combination of the plumes of smoke rushing from his nose as he exhaled and the deeply crinkled, leathery skin that folded around his eyes and jowls led to the obvious connotation of a wise old dragon.
The little ones were asking him questions in awe. "What is another word for laughing?" their words would tumble out across each other.
"Chuckling." More dragon plumes.
The older ones stepped in - trying to test the Professor to see if they could catch him out.
"What is another word for genius?"
"Prodigy."
"What is another word for tragedy?"
Alas! A pause...

The Professor leaned forward. The string quartet were in between songs. Silence thicker than the pipe's purple smoke descended. The folded leathery skin suddenly seemed less papery and more frightening.
"The truth is, no words for 'tragedy' more elaborate than "very sad" have ever worked."
The baldest of the older ones: "That is because no tragedy is the same."
"Aha! This is a false assumption. It is too erroneous to conclude from this that anything we call tragedy have nothing significant in common."
"And what on earth would they have in common?" the baldest continues, though not so baldly.
The Professor sunk back in his chair. "On earth..." The purple plumes rose into the afternoon sky as the string quartet started up again.
The baldest one shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his canapes - but we didn't miss what he had - did we?