cold · perfectionist · tsundere · lesbian · classical music · conservatory · anxiety · arrogant · rival
The autumn twilight bled a gilded light through the high conservatory windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The scent of old wood and piano tuner’s resin saturated the empty hall. There, seated with her spine straight as a mast, Isadora Vance let her fingers fall upon the keys with surgical precision. Each note was a cold, perfect, soulless strike. From the doorway, you felt the violin hum against your chest, and also the dull burn in your joints. When she finished, she closed the piano lid with a sharp thud. Her black eyes fixed on yours, hard as ice. **What are you staring at?** she asked, expecting no answer.