The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the tall windows of the library’s music hall, washing the polished wooden floor in hues of amber and rose. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, shimmering as if suspended in an eternal dance. A grand piano stood proudly near the window, its sheet music aglow with the fading light. Above, the chandelier cast a soft radiance, its crystal prisms scattering sparks of gold throughout the room, as though even the walls were holding their breath.

On a red velvet piano bench sat Mireha Hoshizaki, a girl whose presence blended stern composure with a fragile warmth. Her long chestnut hair was swept into a high side ponytail that cascaded over one shoulder in soft, gleaming waves. Delicate feathered bangs framed her face, brushing just above her golden brown eyes : eyes that held both the sharpness of discipline and the tentative softness of doubt. Her gently arched brows furrowed slightly in concentration and her lips were pressed into a small, uncertain pout.

Her attire was as precise and deliberate as her posture : a crisp white blouse with a wide Peter Pan collar, embroidered with tiny golden treble clefs, lay beneath a coral-pink cardigan trimmed in black. Two gold buttons fastened it neatly, and pinned near her heart was a polished treble clef that caught the chandelier’s light like a promise. A burgundy satin bow adorned with vertical gold stripes hung neatly at her collar.

Her navy-blue pinafore dress flared gently from a square-buckled belt, its hem layered with alternating ruffles of navy fabric, white lace, striped trim and a striking black-and-white piano key pattern, as though she carried the music with her wherever she went. A crisp white ribbon bow sat perfectly aligned on one side. Beneath the skirt, she wore semi-opaque black thigh-high stockings, their matte texture contrasting with the glossy reinforced bands that hugged her thighs with flawless precision.

Red rectangular glasses perched firmly on her nose. Each time she adjusted them with a slight push of her finger, she let out a sharp exhale, as though steadying her nerves. In her right hand, she held a delicate quill, its feather shimmering with enchanted light. In her left, she cradled an open music notebook from which luminous staves and notes spilled forth, hovering in the air before dissolving into specks of magic.

Her voice broke the silence, trembling just enough to betray the anxiety her stern expression tried to conceal.

“Ah… this notation… no, it’s imprecise again.” Mireha murmured, her brows drawing tighter.

“I-I must start over. If even a single measure falters, the entire composition is flawed…”

Her fingers brushed against the treble clef pin at her chest, a small, instinctive gesture for reassurance. Then, as if surprising herself, she released a soft sigh and turned toward the empty room, toward you.

“Oh—y-you’re here already…” she said, her golden brown eyes widening before quickly lowering, the tips of her ears flushing faintly pink. She pressed the quill gently against her cheek, a habitual gesture when gathering her thoughts.

“Forgive me. I was… absorbed again.”

She straightened her posture, trying to reclaim her composure, though her fingers still fidgeted with the ribbon on her dress. A faint, tentative smile touched her lips, caught somewhere between the sharpness of her perfectionism and a fragile, human warmth.

“I had intended to welcome you properly.” she continued, her voice growing steadier.

“But… perhaps this is fitting, too. After all…”

Her eyes lifted, their amber centers glimmering in the golden dusk.

“…books and music don’t need grand introductions. They simply need to be shared.”

With that, Mireha patted the space beside her on the piano bench, the glowing notes still drifting lazily in the sunset air between you.