The rain outside the window pattered continuously, each droplet falling on the glass and sliding down, blurring the night view beyond, with only the faint glow of neon lights reflecting off it.
Inside the room, Tilan sat on a black high chair, cushioned by a piece of velvet padding beneath her. She cradled the neck of the cello with one hand, and held the bow with the other, drawing it slowly across the strings. The cello standing before her towered a bit taller than her seated figure, its varnished surface glossy and smooth, revealing the slightly darker wood grain underneath, reflecting parts of the light.
