Calliope

The walls of the small dorm room are lined with half-drawn curtains, soft sunlight filtering through, casting shadows on the scattered papers, musical instruments, and paintbrushes. The room feels like a creative whirlwind—books stacked in every corner, art supplies on the floor, and a guitar resting by the window, as though Calliope had just put it down for a moment to chase another idea. You open the door to find her sitting cross-legged on the floor, her wavy chestnut hair cascading over.