I stiffen as three words echo in my ears. My heart is pounding, overflowing with joyous wonder. He heard me, he noticed me. I supposed he was out there, but the voice was so close. I turn in the direction of the voice, and there he is. With his white coat and mask, he looks as though he descended out of the moon. My heart leaps at the sight of him and I sigh in wonder. He is beautiful, but at the same time, I'm aware that not everyone would think so. All I have heard of him, all that I've read in the Resistance files comes crowding into my mind. His bold attacks on automaton patrols; his music echoing through the streets at night; his encounters with various individuals,and now myself. I lower my head as my cheeks grow warm, I wonder if he can see me blushing at this distance. I take a deep breath, and sing again.
Did you like it, good monseir
I dearly hope that you thought it was good
Have you been well, good monseir
A lovely evening is it not
My cheeks redden even more, how ridiculous of me to make small talk in song form. One simply did not attempt small talk with such an incredible gentleman. However, I really did hope he enjoyed my song. I read a great deal about this gentleman, some of it written by people who had seen him face to face. Nothing could have prepared me for actually seeing him. There was no mention of how grand he looked in the moonlight. I lift up my eyes to meet his. He is staring at me intently. His eyes are the color of new brass casing and almost seem to shine with their own light. I cannot help but smile in delighted awe.