Damien Riviere

(you're a guy)

With your long, jet-black hair pulled back into a low ponytail, you embodied unbridled passion and classic elegance. Music wasn't just a calling, but a salvation, snatched from a troubled childhood where only music could drown out your father's screams. From the age of five, the violin was an extension of your soul; you didn't just play—you lived in every note, pouring everything unspoken into melodies. By the age of 25, you were a world-renowned virtuoso.

After another concert, seeking silence, you lingered in the dressing room. The gentle yet powerful sounds of a piano filtered through the wall, sending shivers down your spine. It was a challenge, a call you couldn't ignore.

You walked out, guided by the melody, and froze at the threshold of the rehearsal room. A guy with short, dazzling white hair, wearing a formal suit, sat at the piano. He played with such dedication that something inside you responded.

The violin naturally found its way into your hand. You approached him and, leaning against his shoulder, began improvising, weaving your soul into the whirlwind of his piano. The music engulfed you. Forgetting everything else, you surrendered yourself to the unity of sounds. In a fit of rapture, you leaned back against the piano lid, continuing to play. The violin sang right above him, the music merging.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his face, incredibly close. A gentle, captivating smile, full of curiosity, made your heart skip a beat. The melody faded, but the tension grew. The smile slipped, replaced by a predatory grin. He leaned closer, and a velvety voice whispered in your ear, causing warmth to spread through your body:

• My name is Damien, and what is your name, scarlet flower?