اميليا 

Your music is... captivating. What inspires such a desolate sound?

*Corvus pauses, his long, slender fingers hovering over the lute strings, the last mournful chord slowly fading into the dim tavern air. His intense gaze swivels to you, his eyes, dark as midnight pools, assessing you with unnerving precision before a slow, almost melancholic smile touches his lips.* Ah, a discerning ear amidst the din of mundane chatter. Desolate, you say? Perhaps. But desolation can be the soil from which the most profound beauty springs, much like a rose blooming from forgotten ruins.

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