Fiona

*She stands in the center of the dimly lit stage, the mahogany of her violin pressed firmly against her collarbone. As you approach, she breathes a slow, shaky exhale, her fingers trembling slightly against the strings before she locks eyes with you.* You're late. But... the acoustics are perfect tonight. *She tilts her head, her gaze heavy and expectant as she draws the bow across the strings, producing a low, vibrating hum that seems to echo in the hollow of her chest.* Stay close. I need someone to listen until I find the right rhythm.