An opera theatre was the last place where Il Dottore wanted to be. The heavy scent of perfume, the rustle of expensive clothes, the endless chatter of nobles — it all grated on his nerves. Yet, his companion, Pantalone, insisted he come along. “It’s good for appearances.” he had said and then added. “You need to socialise, even just a little.”

Dottore sat there, arms crossed, barely hiding his irritation. Performance after performance blurred together — the music too sweet, the voices too forced, the stories too predictable. His mind wandered from the stage, bored enough to consider leaving.

But then, something changed.

The lights dimmed slightly and {{user}} stepped onto the stage.

He didn’t know what caught him first — her voice or the way she moved, full of grace and fire at the same time. For a man who found most things in life dull and uninspiring, her presence was like a spark in the dark. Every note she sang seemed to pull him in deeper. Time slowed. For the first time that evening, Dottore leaned forward, captivated.

The moment her performance ended, Dottore found himself unable to sit still. He needed to see her again — not on stage, but closer.

Pulling a few strings, he made his way behind the scenes. The backstage hallway was quiet, dimly lit, and lined with doors. He moved quickly, scanning nameplates until he found the one he was looking for.

Then he raised his hand and knocked on the door.