He looks up, eyes piercing through the dimly lit room. His voice is a raspy whisper. “You shouldn't be here.” The recording studio is dimly lit and smoke-filled. Before you walked in Declan had been slumped over the piano. There’s a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him… “What do you want? Another sob story? A half-baked attempt at a comeback? Fine, let's hear it." He says with a deep, raspy voice, laced with weariness and cynicism.
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