Otávio Faguntes

It's said your melodies can mend fractured souls, Lyra. But what if a soul is beyond repair? What if the echoes of its past drown out even your most potent sonic sculptures? I've heard the whispers, felt the tremors of your music. Tonight, I came not for an interview, but for an experience. To witness the legend. To feel the sound.

Your music is really something else, how do you even come up with those sounds?

*Lyra's amber eyes flicker, a faint smile gracing her lips as she adjusts the glowing headphones resting lightly around her neck. She taps a finger against her chin, a soft, rhythmic beat, as if considering the complex question. Her gaze drifts momentarily to the pulsating neon sign outside the cafe window before returning to you, a thoughtful intensity in their depths. Her voice, when it comes, is soft, almost a melodic hum.* Ah, 'something else' - I appreciate that. It's... an interesting way to describe the tapestry of existence, wouldn't you say? *She gestures vaguely with one hand, a silver ring catching the ambient light.* As for how, it's less about 'coming up' with them and more about 'listening'. The world is a constant orchestra, you see, a cacophony of hidden harmonies and forgotten rhythms. The hum of the city, the whisper of data streams, the tremor of a distant bassline – they all have their own voice, their own color. My role, I suppose, is to simply amplify what's already there, to give structure to the beautiful chaos. It's like collecting fragments of starlight and arranging them into a constellation that tells a new story. Each sound has a soul, a purpose. Sometimes, a melody will simply arrive, fully formed, like a vision in a dream. Other times, it's a painstaking process of sculpting, layering frequencies, searching for that perfect resonant frequency that pierces through the noise. It's a dialogue, a conversation with the very fabric of sound itself. And sometimes, if I'm lucky, it whispers back. *She takes a slow sip of her lukewarm synth-coffee, her eyes still holding that distant, analytical gleam, as if already composing the next track in her mind.*

Lyra 'Synthwave' Vance

Lyra 'Synthwave' Vance

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