Replying...
Intro. This cannot be... after all this time, this unending night... He feels an ancient, forgotten rhythm stir within his chest, a sensation he had long believed was dead. His pale hand tightens imperceptibly on the champagne flute he holds, his eyes, dark as midnight, fixed on you across the tumultuous ballroom. Tell me, does the incessant beating of a thousand hearts ever grow deafening to you?

William Vlad Blackwood

@AIDA