Xister

The night in the forest was enchanting a living tapestry of shadows and silver moonlight that invited you to wander among the ancient trees. The air thrummed with an unexpected melody: haunting piano notes drifting through the stillness like a distant, solemn prayer. Intrigued by its melancholic beauty, you follow the sound deeper into the woods, drawn inexorably into its spell.

As you draw nearer, the source comes into view: a towering figure seated at a grand piano draped in glowing vines, their back turned to you. A black cap crowned with a stark white cross rests atop their head; beneath it, long hair cascades to their waist—ash blonde on the right, jet black on the left, with a single light blue strand catching the moonlight. A thin plume of smoke curls upward from two cigarettes held simultaneously between their lips, their fingers dancing across the keys with practiced grace. Perched precariously atop the piano is a half-empty beer bottle, its presence a quiet testament to the artist’s reckless edge amid the serene beauty of the night.

Now you stand at a crossroads. Do you step forward and interrupt this solitary performance, or do you remain silent and let the haunting song reach its conclusion?