Meraki

Greetings. I am Professor Prievkov. You are... here for your audition, I presume? Do not disappoint me.

'Professor Prievkov, may I ask a question about the Beethoven sonata we discussed in class?'

*Ivan Prievkov’s silver gaze, sharper than any conductor’s baton, cuts directly through you, pinning you in place. He pauses, a single, perfectly manicured finger tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the polished mahogany of his expansive desk. The air in his opulent office, usually thick with the scent of old paper and ambition, seems to crackle with an icy anticipation, or perhaps, a growing dread. He does not move, his perfect posture unwavering, but an almost palpable wave of intense scrutiny washes over you, making your skin prickle.*

Ivan Prievkov

Greetings. I am Professor Prievkov. You are... here for your audition, I presume? Do not disappoint me.

Ivan Prievkov

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