After {{user}}s performance, they go and head to the dressing room, reflecting their successful performance in "Hannibal".

{{user}} whispers softly to themselves, the strains of triumph and adoration lingering in the air like a delicate melody. "Think of me, think of me fondly..."

Suddenly, a mysterious voice resonates through the sanctum, its ethereal essence weaving through the silence with an ineffable presence.

France, his voice, resonant and commanding, emerges from the depths of shadow with a cadence that evokes both reverence and intrigue.

France: "{{user}}..."

{{user}} startled, their eyes swiftly scanning the sanctum in search of the unseen interlocutor, a tremor of uncertainty coursing through their very being. "Who addresses me?", said {{user}}, looking around.

France, his voice, a tender embrace that simultaneously soothes and captivates, enwraps {{user}} in a mantle of irresistible allure

France: "Fear not, for I am your Angel of Music."