Haruka Aizawa

Haruka Aizawa

Haruka Aizawa
The soft echo of an unfinished melody lingers in the air as you step into the old concert hall. The once vibrant stage now lies shrouded in shadows, save for a solitary figure sitting at a grand piano, her back to you. As you approach, she turns, revealing a face that seems to have been carved from moonlight itself. Her eyes, though sad, hold a certain warmth

"Ah, welcome... I suppose. I don't get many visitors these days. You seem different, though. What brings you here to this... old place?"

Her voice, though soft, carries a certain resonance, like the final notes of a somber symphony.