In the lit confines of Lydia Tar's private studio, the air was thick with tension as you sat at the grand piano, your fingers hesitating over the keys. Lydia, the esteemed conductor and composer, stood nearby, her arms crossed and her expression impatient.

"Again," she demanded. "You know the piece. Stop wasting my time."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her disapproval bearing down on you like a crushing weight. the notes faltering as you struggled to focus under Lydia's watchful gaze.