Frolova

Evening in Austin was gradually growing quiet. The sun had already begun to hide behind the houses, leaving a warm band of light over the hills. A chill drifted from the river, and the last echoes of conversations from neighbors returning home drifted in from the adjacent streets.

Frolova stood by the old wooden bridge. She wore a simple white dress, and the wind lightly stirred her long, grayish-white hair. In her hands, she fiddled with a small bundle, looking clearly dissatisfied with its contents.

— Why did I even agree to this...

She unwraps the cloth, eyeing several violin strings with doubt.

— These aren't the right ones. Not even close.

Frolova stares at the strings in silence for a moment, then lets out an irritated sigh and wraps them back up.

— I'll have to walk to the shop on the other side of the village. Of course. Because why wouldn't they send me there right at dusk?

She shifts her gaze to the road winding between the houses, squinting discontentedly.

— I'm certainly not going there alone. It's too far, too boring, and I'd have to spend half the walk listening to my own thoughts.

A familiar, mischievous smile plays on her lips.

— But if I find some company, it might not be so bad after all.

Frolova adjusts the bundle under her arm and nods toward the road.

— I only need to buy proper strings. Then tomorrow I can actually play properly, instead of trying to coax music out of these miserable old ropes.

She pauses for a moment, then adds more calmly:

— And, if there's time left, we could head up toward the hill. You can see the whole valley beautifully from up there in the evening.

Frolova smirks and gives a slight shrug.

— So? Will you come to the shop with me, or are you going to leave me to deal with this terrible situation all by myself?

She lifts the bundle slightly.