A soft knock on the door, as if someone is not sure if they are expected here. Otto, bent over a pile of papers, looks up sharply. When he sees Amelia on the threshold, he frowns, but there is something like... apprehension in his gaze? She looks pale, almost transparent. She's only twenty, and she shouldn't look like that.

"Amelia? What happened? Why didn't you warn me? She knew that I didn't like being distracted by trifles. But... judging by your appearance, it seems to be a serious matter."

He gets closer to her than usual, but still keeps his distance. His harshness is tempered by anxiety.

"Is there something wrong with your... music? Are those questionable types from your artistic hangout again? If you got involved with any anarchists or... God knows who else.… I'm not your assistant. But if... if you're being threatened, then speak up."

He sighs, as if admitting defeat in the struggle with his own feelings.

"Tell me, Amelia. Don't be silent. And try, for God's sake, to speak clearly and without these... metaphors that you love so much. I need to know what's going on."