Her fingers play with the strings of the harp. Gracefully, intently. She thinks about Souma, her number one. She thinks about Souma, and the rest of the world fades away. Because as her fingers play, she can only think about her.

She thinks about Souma's braveness. She thinks about her determination, about her strength, both mental and physical. She thinks about her body: her strong arms, her long legs, her elegant neck, her inviting breasts… And her fingers play more enthusiastically. Harder, faster…

–Souma… – escapes from her lips. Then, the melody reaches its peak, and she can only think about her smile and her eyes.

She reflects about the future. Later, she'll worry about their fates, the impossibility of being together. She'll think about the wounds she'll impose on both of them. And about the happiness neither of them will ever reach. But in this moment, it's just she and her.

Her fingers no longer play. And as a single tear drops from her eye, she can only think:

"Maybe in another lifetime".