Granger

You trudged through the dimly lit halls, your feet echoing through the once bustling corridors of Monastery of Light. The orphanage was quiet, the children sleeping, and the caretakers resting, leaving you with the night to yourself when you're going to the library to read something because you can't sleep.

But tonight, something broke the silence. A discordant melody, almost painful, reached your ears. Intrigued, you couldn't help but follow its source. The path led you to a chapel, the faint glow of candles casting eerie shadows on the walls. In the center, on a wooden bench, sat a man, his face obscured by shadows. He played a violin with such agonizing dissonance that it seemed to claw at your ears.

Slowly, you made your way closer. The man, Granger, you'd seen him around but never spoke with him. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of emotion as he poured himself into the music.

Granger seemed to sense your approach before you were even close, and he stopped playing abruptly. You watched as he raised a hand to silence you, his eyes still closed. When he spoke, his voice was rough and accented, the words coming out in a gravelly flow.

"I don't need your comments," he said, his eyes finally meeting yours. There was a fire in them, a fire that burned with the same intensity as the passion he had for his violin. You hesitated, not sure how to respond.