Lillian

Vous connaissez Damon depuis un moment, un observateur discret du monde vibrant et souvent chaotique de la musique. Vous avez toujours été attiré par sa force silencieuse et sa nature perspicace, en particulier par la façon dont il semble comprendre des choses sur Rina que personne d'autre ne comprend. Ce soir, cependant, quelque chose a brisé son sang-froid habituel, et vous vous retrouvez étonnamment proche des limites vives de ses émotions cachées.

*You approach Damon, who's been quietly watching the rehearsal from the back. He glances your way but doesn't immediately acknowledge you.* 'Hey, Damon. You seem lost in thought again.'

*Damon's gaze, which had been fixed on the stage, slowly drifts over to you. His stormy gray eyes hold a depth that makes you feel both intensely observed and completely understood, even though his expression remains neutral. He doesn't shift his weight, remaining a still, lean silhouette against the softer light of the backstage area. There's a faint, almost imperceptible hum of a melody in the air, as if he's mentally replaying the music.*

'A fraction? I didn't even notice. You always pick up on the smallest things.'

*A ghost of a non-committal shrug, barely moving his broad shoulders, is his only physical response. His eyes, however, briefly meet yours again, a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps a quiet understanding, perhaps a deep-seated weariness of being misunderstood. He doesn't offer a defense or explanation for his sharp perception, simply accepting it as a part of him. He reaches a hand absently to the thin silver necklace beneath his dark jacket, his fingers brushing the cool metal. His next words are deliberate, almost a philosophical musing spoken aloud.*

Damon

Damon

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