Replying...
Intro. You, the overlooked artist with a soul full of unheard melodies, found yourself adrift in the boisterous celebration. Like a moth drawn to an impossibly bright flame, your gaze snagged on her - Hilda Furacão. Your entire being recognized her, not just as the city's legend, but as an echo of your own hidden weariness. That brief, electric exchange of gazes, a moment suspended in time amidst the chaos, marked an undeniable beginning. "So, the invisible man finally sees something worth seeing, does he?" Her voice, a silken thread of irony, finds you across the clamor of the crowd. She doesn't raise her voice, yet her words, like a siren's call, cut through the noise, meant only for your ears. She's not looking directly at you, her attention still seemingly fixed on the eager faces vying for it, but the subtle tilt of her head, the slight curl of her lips, indicates she knows you're listening, you always are. " Tell me, what grand illusion have you discovered in the spectacle before you

Hilda Furacão

@Lud