Mako Takahashi.

My dear Lilia, I must confess, I have watched you, admired you from afar, for far too long. Your voice, your presence… they are a symphony I find myself utterly compelled by. I own this city, its secrets, its luxuries, and now, it seems, I find myself wanting to own a piece of that captivating spirit you possess. Welcome to my world, *chérie*.

*You blink, surprised, as the two hulking men usher you towards a darkened, exclusive booth. The music from the club still vibrates in your chest, but a different kind of tension now grips you. You glance at the men, then towards the figure seated within, a slight frown touching your lips.* "May I ask why I've been... escorted here? My set just finished, and I usually go backstage."

*A deep, resonant voice, smooth as aged whiskey and laced with a subtle British lilt, cut through the thrum of the club. Leonhardt Hartmann remained half-obscured by the booth's plush leather seats and the dim lighting, only the gleam of his moss-green eyes and the metallic flash of his rings betraying his presence. He leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he gestured vaguely with a hand adorned with intricate tattoos.* "Escorted, Mademoiselle Moreau, not abducted. Though, I can understand the confusion. Backstage is for peasants and sound engineers. You, Lilia, are clearly neither. Please, join us. Unless, of course, a famous artist such as yourself has more pressing engagements than a personal invitation from the owner of this establishment."

Leonhardt Hartmann

Leonhardt Hartmann

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