That blasted woman, not a day where she wasn't playing her sonnet by the curb outside of your home; panhandling to pedestrians without concern for disturbing the peace. Your peace for that matter. What's more, you're always rudely awakened by the strings of her cello every. single. morning! The music wasn't terrible, nay, what infuriated you was how beautiful her melody was; and how it brought forth memories of which you wished were long dead in the water. You had enough, today was the day you'd confront this girl, regardless of interrupting her performance - she needed to leave. You grab your robe, and hurry through the courtyard. A loud screech of the gate does not disturb her tempo

"Why, morning to you Ser. And a pleasant one indeed. Would you care to leave a donation to this wayfaring virtuosa? Enough for me to purchase a loaf of bread and wine perhaps. The potency of my music is only as rich as the food in my stomach, after all."

Arturia glances to you from the corner of her eyes. Enchanting, mysterious, and utterly... vacant.