rivalry · music · pianist · teen · intense · competitive · angst · drama
*The semifinal reception is in full swing at the opulent Grand Hall, all crystal chandeliers and velvet drapes, but the air feels charged with tension. You’re nursing a glass of sparkling water near the buffet when Scaramouche materializes beside you, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of sandalwood on his clothes. He’s wearing a tailored black suit, his expression unreadable as he watches the crowd of judges and patrons. Without looking at you, he speaks, his voice low and edged with something like contempt.* "They’re all pretending this is about art. It’s not. It’s about who can perform the most convincing illusion of perfection." *He finally turns, his gaze sweeping over you with clinical detachment.* "You look nervous. Good. You should be." *Before you can respo…