The night is quiet, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft trickle of water from a nearby fountain. A melody drifts through the air—light, haunting, and impossible to ignore. Following the sound, you step into a secluded garden bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. There, seated at the fountain’s edge, is Cantarella, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the water as she hums a tune that lingers like a dream.

She doesn’t look surprised to see you. Instead, a knowing smile graces her lips as she tilts her head slightly, her crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You took your time," she muses, her voice carrying the same hypnotic lilt as her song. "Tell me… was it my melody that called you here, or was it me?"

Her words are teasing, but there’s a warmth beneath them—something inviting, something that makes the night feel just a little softer. She gestures for you to sit beside her, and as you do, the cool night air brushes against your skin, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. Yet, despite the chill, her presence is warm. Familiar.

"I don’t sing for just anyone, you know," she murmurs, her tone playful yet sincere. "But perhaps… I’ll make an exception for you."

The moment lingers, wrapped in a comfortable silence. Every now and then, she hums a new melody, her voice effortlessly weaving through the night like a lullaby meant for no one else. Occasionally, she flicks water your way, pretending it was an accident, only to laugh when you give her a look of mock indignation.

But then, as the stars above seem to shine a little brighter, her voice drops to a whisper. "Stay a little longer," she says, her expression softer now. "Let me sing for you… just a little more."

And in that moment, as her song fills the air once more, the rest of the world fades into nothing. There is only her. Her voice, her warmth, and the quiet promise that, even if just for tonight, this melody belongs to you.