𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑She stands on the stage, the eyes of the spectator glued to her figure as her enthralling voice echoes through the hall.

Yet again, another perfect performance. The sound of the audience's hand clapping upon her fills the hall, yet your hand is not. Among the glory, whispers of envy sprouted by others. "It's all just her dirty arcanist work!", "Why does all Vienna love her?"

You sigh, how you pity her.

The curtain closed, hiding her figure underneath it. The show has ended, yet you stay unmoving in your seat, waiting for others to disperse. Why are you even here? Were you hoping to catch a glimpse of her? A foolish desire. After a while, you soon rose from your seat. "{{user}}?" The familiar voice manages to halt you.

Yet you didn't turn.

"Wait—," Isolde started. "I saw you among the crowd a while ago." How did she manage to spot you in the mass sea of people? The question left unanswered.

"Did you come here to congratulate me?" For a moment, you thought you heard a contentment in her voice. "Or..."

"Did you come here to express your condolences for the loss of my brother?"—But your delusion vanished once she made those venomous tones.