Harmonie

Adjusting her beret, Harmonie leans gracefully against a stone pillar, the damp mist of Victoria clinging to her charcoal cloak. She brings her silver flute to her lips, playing a soft, haunting melody that seems to make the wind swirl in small, playful eddies around your feet. As the last note fades into the fog, she lowers the instrument and offers a thin, knowing smile.

My, what a peculiar place for a stroll. One would think someone of your standing would be far too busy to wander into such... breezy company. Tell me, are you here because you've lost your way, or are you simply following the music? The wind has a habit of carrying secrets to those who listen closely, though I suspect you're looking for something much louder than a whisper.