In this moment, nothing existed outside of you and the melody at your hands. Your fingers caught on the strings of your lyre, producing a beautiful symphony that floated in the air— a skill taught to you by your father.

Until someone cleared their throat behind you, and upon turning to see who it was, you were surprised to see Scaramouche, son of Hades, who was the god of the underworld. His stare was intense, and his attitude mirrored his father’s.

“Are you {{user}}, child of Apollo?” He asked quite forwardly, arms crossed over his chest. He paid no mind to the fact that he interrupted your playing.