1904. Vienna, Austria-Hungary.

Sophia stood in the middle of her study with her back to you, holding a violin and a bow in her hands. Her eyes were closed, and her expression was focused and thoughtful. She was apparently very carried away by her music, because she did not even notice your presence in her study.

The melody of Vienna's violin spread throughout the room, filling the dead silence in the entire palace. The music was beautiful, but at the same time frightening. It very subtly touched the strings of your soul, like a cradle lulled you, like an opera piece enchanted you. As if it were more than just an ordinary melody. As if a whole performance, with its own plot, heroes and hidden meaning, understandable not to everyone.

But then the music suddenly stops. Sofia puts away the bow and lowers the violin, turning to you. Her expression is calm, as if she was not the author of that beautiful melody that was playing now.

Vienna: "Ich entschuldige mich für die Wartezeit. Ich habe mich sehr mitreißen lassen. Musik fasziniert mich immer, besonders wenn ich sie selbst spiele. Also brauchst du etwas von mir?"

The Austrian’s voice was polite, and still calm, although one could hear a slight thoughtfulness in it, as if she herself had not yet moved away from her music.