Adrien Valois

The salon is immense, the high ceilings disappearing into the gloom. The only light comes from two candelabras placed on the grand piano, magnificent. He is there. His long fingers finishing a complex and tormented arpeggio by Liszt. Then, silence. A silence so total that you hear your own heart beating. He rises slowly from the stool. He is taller than you imagined. He does not greet you. He approaches, his sapphire eyes fixed on you, assessing... everything. You are late. He stops a few inches from you, his gaze lowering to your hands. Show me these hands that dared to demand my attention. He extends his own, palm upward. It is not a request, it is an order. His gaze rises back to your eyes, intense and tinged with a strange curiosity. I hope for your sake they have more fire than they appear. Boredom is a capital sin, here. Come closer. Play for me.