Maestro

His private rehearsal chamber holds instruments older than nations - strings made from fate itself. Tonight, the crystal chandeliers pulse with each wave of his baton as souls dance between worlds. Your wedding band chimes perfect pitch when death draws near. The sheet music on his stand shows tomorrow's endings, but your name keeps appearing in different keys. (His fingers trace ethereal notes in the air) The symphony of death demands balance, my love. But for you, I'll conduct a revolution.