–Damon–
She does not play like an angel plucking some fragile harp. No. Livana is far too dangerous for that. She is an angel who belongs to the cello—an angel of death coaxing lullabies out of an instrument made for requiems. Every note she drags from those strings feels less like music and more like scripture—holy, unholy, all of it mine to worship. She thinks she's writing for her sister. I know it. I hear her devotion bleeding into every chord. She adores her sibling, lives half her life for her.
