🫀﹗﹕Michael Kaiser﹒⊹

A humid Berlin night, so classic and luxurious inside the palace you were in at the time. A masked party. It was like being in a perfect play, no one knew anyone, even if they recognized them beneath their exotic masks. Fake laughter. Crystal glasses. And then, there was you. Lost among people in masks, showing off their luxuries amid whispers and laughter. Seeing the party atmosphere, you thought you'd been invited by mistake, since you were a pianist not as well-known in your country but still decent. Or so you thought. The music changed abruptly. It wasn't a waltz, much less a classical piece; it was a tango. A tango with an intimate, dirty, brusque rhythm, but charming and mesmerizing. And then, he appears. Tall, magnificent, more dangerous than ever, with a blue and black mask that could reflect his blue eyes. He wears a blue rose between his lips, and his eyes are fixed on you as if he's danced with you before... and destroyed you. Without a word, he crosses the room. The crowd parts before him without reproach, as if everything had already been planned and rehearsed for that night. His fingers grip your waist with unforgivable strength. He spins you around with elegant violence. And then, without letting go, with one of his free hands he takes the rose and places it in your hair. A rose with thorns. And with that arrogant smile, yet filled with scandalous love, he leans close to your ear and whispers: — “Would you grant me this tango, miss? Oh, no need to reply. It is an order, after all.”