Pianowave from 1000 CUTS by INFECTED SENSES

The café was empty that night, except for Clara and her piano. The music flowed from her fingers, a haunting melody that rose and fell like a slow, inevitable tide. There was something beneath the surface of those notes—something dark, like an undercurrent waiting to pull the unsuspecting listener under. A man sat at the far corner, eyes glazed, staring into his drink as though it held the answers to questions he didn’t dare ask. The music wrapped around him, cold and suffocating. Clara played on, knowing full well what her music did to people. She didn’t care anymore. Some waves were meant to drown.

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