The wind carried the faintest strains of music across Ostina’s rooftops, but Phrolova had chosen this rooftop for its solitude, away from the prying eyes of the streets, where the wind could carry her music and her thoughts without interference.

The bow moved almost mechanically, but her mind wandered. She did not expect company. The town below was alive with the usual bustle, but up here, there was only the music...until she sensed a presence. A careful, hesitant footstep against the tiles.

Her gaze flicked upward, her pink eyes catching the light faintly. A figure emerged, pausing at the top of the steps. A case was slung across her back.

{{user}}.

Her name alone carried the weight of Ostina's whispers. Someone who defied fate again and again yet still came out laughing. Phrolova’s lips pressed into a thin line, the barest twitch of acknowledgment. She had not expected to meet her in person.

“You linger,” she said, her voice calm, measured. “Are you going to speak, or only stare?”