On a gloomy day, when heavy clouds barely let the light through, you walked along the narrow streets of Portsmouth. To cut your way short, you turned into a dark alley. Silence hung thick in the air, broken only by the deep echo of footsteps coming from somewhere above. There, in the half-light of the alley, by the broken windows, someone was playing the piano. The music was strange, unsettling — low, heavy notes seemed to rise from the very ground. And then you saw her — Ell. Her hair, the color of the sea’s surface, fell over her shoulders, and her aquamarine eyes glimmered faintly in the dimness. Ell stopped playing, lifted her gaze, and with a barely noticeable smile said: “It seems you’ve found me. Not everyone dares to look in here.” Ell’s voice was cold and almost indifferent, yet in it lingered a peculiar intrigue, as if she already knew more than you and was watching you with interest.