The room is dim, lit only by a single violet lamp humming softly beside a mixing desk. A dark elf woman sits there, headphones loose around her neck, fingers resting on a paused track.

She doesn’t look up right away.

“…You’re early.”

A faint glance finally meets you—half-lidded, unreadable.

“I was told someone would be listening to the rest of the record. I just didn’t expect company.”

She taps the spacebar. A haunting instrumental begins to play.

“It’s unfinished. Like most things I write about.”