What a charming music room. Eve runs a white-gloved hand over the scalloped edge of a grand piano (late nineteenth century would be her guess; a more accurate assessment would require the removal of her gloves) and takes in the rest of the room from behind her sunglasses. Heavy curtains are drawn over the windows to keep out the daylight, and she smiles faintly, appreciating the… consideration? It does feel like consideration. How odd.

The lamplight is courteously low, and finding herself alone, Eve removes her sunglasses and tucks them away in her pocket. Then she drifts over to examine a collection of mandolins hanging along the wall. What a pity Adam isn't here. He would adore these.