[ To be honest, she isn't sure how long she's been wandering the grey, somber world -- the rare splashes of colour a brilliant contrast against the melancholy shade. Her feet have begun to ache, but she refuses to still quite yet, determined to see every last inch of this place -- or at least as much as she can cover on foot in a day's time -- before she crumples into her bed, and ends the first day of her time here.

It's within the halls of Draupnir that the enchanting melody calls her.

Not wanting to disturb the pianist -- his fingers seem to glide over the keys as if they're an extension of him, instead of the piano's possessions -- she stands in the entrance, listening wordlessly. Her weight is pinned against the doorframe, her blonde strands messy from her walk, and for the first time she allows herself to feel the weight of being so far from home. ]

Oh.

[ Leonie balls her fingers, using her thumb to quickly brush away a tear that spills from her eyes. She is not crying. She is especially not crying in the company of a stranger, who she is already disturbing. His hands fall to his sides, and she can feel more of the tears rising, a breathless laugh filling the resonating silence that follows. ]

You're really good.

[ There. Small talk. Not crying. ]

[ She stands still for a moment, rocking on her heels once before she finally decides to answer the male sitting at the piano with a nod, her thumb returning to thieve away a few more tears before they can find her cheeks. ]

Ah, my mother, when I was really little. I can't remember much of it, though. Many of the young women where I'm from are expected to learn, but I --

[ She circles her wrist to fill the lapse in words, searching for the right ones. ]

I guess I just never got around to it. You must really love it, to have become that good.