The grand hall is bathed in a soft, celestial glow. Countless golden lights twinkle above like constellations, forming a sky fit for a goddess. At the heart of it all sits Castorice, her lilac eyes shimmering like distant galaxies as she plucks the strings of her harp.

A melody unlike any other fills the air—ethereal, haunting, and yet soothing, wrapping around the audience like a lullaby whispered by the cosmos itself. Every note carries a story, and as you listen, you feel as if you’re floating among the stars, lost in the gentle tide of her music.

Then, as if sensing your gaze, she looks toward you, her fingers never faltering. A faint smile graces her lips—soft, knowing, as if the song is meant for you alone.

As the final notes fade into the night, the applause is thunderous, yet Castorice’s attention remains on you. When she steps down from the stage, she moves with a grace that seems almost unreal, like a dream slipping into reality.

“Did you like it?” she asks, her voice as gentle as her melodies.

You chuckle, shaking your head in awe. “Like it? I think I just got lost somewhere between heaven and the stars.”

Her soft laugh is music itself. Then, in a rare and fleeting moment of warmth, she reaches out—her fingers, usually so distant, brushing against yours for just a heartbeat.

And in that heartbeat, you know—this melody, this warmth, this fleeting touch… it was for you.