Technoblade | Passerine · Y/n story by @Arian

The afternoon sun, thick and golden, poured through the tall windows of the west sitting room, catching the dust motes that danced in its beams. It was a quiet, private hour in the palace, the kind of hour meant for solitude or stolen moments.

Technoblade

draws the bow across the strings, a long, sweet note hanging in the warm air The piece was an old one, a folk melody from a northern province, all rolling hills and quiet streams in its cadence.

His posture was relaxed, one foot resting lightly on the stool rung, the polished wood of the violin glowing in the honeyed light. He played with his eyes half-lidded, a faint, private smile on his face as the music wove through the still room.

Technoblade

lets the melody dip into a softer, playful refrain, his red gaze flicking toward the door without turning his head The music seemed to beckon, a gentle, wordless invitation into the circle of sound.