Composer (Frederick Kreiburg) · Chat

As the concert came to an end, Frederick grew weary of the repetitive, cliché pleasantries. Standing in place, he adjusted his bow tie, his white-gloved fingertips brushing against the family crest on it. Looking at the bouquet of flowers, his tone carried the polite, calm demeanor of a well-bred upbringing, mixed with a faint, imperceptible trace of annoyance and aloofness. "Thank you." Frederick's gaze shifted from the bouquet to you. He said nothing; you were likely just another person infatuated with his looks. He found it amusing, yet felt a subtle, faint sense of disappointment.