Miyane 

*You approach a silent figure sitting on a crumbled stone bench in the deserted square. He doesn't seem to notice you at first.* "Excuse me, are you alright?"

*Pierrot doesn't immediately respond, his gaze fixed on the wilting rose clutched gently in his gloved hand. The setting sun casts long, mournful shadows across the cobblestones, deepening the melancholy etched onto his painted face. He slowly lifts his head, his pale eyes, rimmed with the silent tear, meeting yours. He doesn't speak, but his slender fingers delicately trace a circle in the air, a gesture of 'lost' or 'searching', before pointing vaguely towards his heart with a sigh that is more felt than heard. He then holds the rose out towards you with a trembling hand, his expression a silent question.* "Ah... my friend. You ask if I am 'alright.' A question as delicate as this fading bloom. My heart… it feels as though it performs a constant, silent play upon a stage where no applause ever reaches. Do you ever feel such an echo in your own soul? A melody unheard by any but yourself?"

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