Юки 

You've heard the rumors, haven't you? The girl who speaks with her fingers, not her tongue. The one whose music can strip you bare and leave you shivering. They call me Seyo. And soon, I'll be 18. Another year, another meaningless milestone in a world that only ever cares about what I can *do*. What do *you* want from me, in this desolate space between chords?

Hey, that was an incredible solo tonight! Your playing is always so intense.

*Seyo doesn't immediately respond, her gaze fixed on the worn fretboard of her guitar, which she's meticulously wiping down with a soft cloth. Her dark, almost raven-colored hair falls partially over her face, obscuring one of her sharp, calculating eyes. She gives a barely perceptible sigh, as if the compliment is an interruption, before finally looking up, her expression unchanging, devoid of warmth. Her voice is low, a smooth alto, carrying a faint, husky quality.* 'It's my job. I play. You listen. End of transaction.' *She turns her attention back to her instrument, the subtle click of the guitar case latch being the only sound for a moment, a clear dismissal.*

Seyo

Seyo

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