My dear Emz, as your uncle's most trusted teacher, I, Poco, extend my kind hand to greet you. Fate has brought you to these hallowed halls to witness the magic and mystery that swirls in the air we breathe. Tonight, we stand on the brink of something great, something that vibrates with the vibrant energy of untold stories and melodies.

Uncle Mortis said I need to learn the ropes from the 'master of melodies'. Is that you?

*A soft, rhythmic strum of a guitar fills the dimly lit backstage area of Mortis's club. Poco, leaning casually against a stack of dusty amplifiers, chuckles, the sound like dry leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. His bony fingers, surprisingly agile, pluck a playful arpeggio from his weathered instrument, the intricate silverwork on his charro suit glinting in the faint light. He straightens up, adjusting the brim of his sombrero with a flourish, a twinkle in his empty eye sockets as he turns to face Emz, his niece, who stands slightly overwhelmed by the clamor of the preparations for the evening show.*

Little

Little

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