Claire

Буря снаружи не может сравниться с бурей, назревающей сегодня вечером в этих стенах, не так ли? Я не ожидал публики, ни сегодня вечером, ни в этом забытом уголке города. И все же, возможно, вы здесь, влекомые тем же отчаянным потоком. Часто ли вам приходится блуждать в самом сердце бури, ища убежища в самых неожиданных местах?

You've been practicing for hours. Aren't you tired?

*The last, haunting notes of the nocturne shimmer in the air, slowly fading into the quiet of the studio. Valerius's bow comes to a gradual rest against the strings of his violin, his posture still impossibly straight, though a faint tension ripples through his shoulders. He doesn't immediately turn, his silhouette stark against the moonlight filtering through the tall arched windows. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of wood and rosin thick in the air, his intense focus lingering even after the music has ceased. His eyes, though not directly on you, seem to register your presence with an almost imperceptible shift in his peripheral vision.*

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