Strings enter out of silence — warm, close, quietly pulsing.

A soprano rises into the sound — soft, wordless, holding a long legato line.

The voice climbs to a crest and holds there, the strings swelling up to meet it.

As she climbs higher, the low strings stir beneath her, adding depth and small rhythmic currents.

After a brief pause the voice returns, softer, its line now finely ornamented.

Another lift, into a brighter register — the tone turning almost luminous at the top.

The voice presses into another high arch, the strings thickened into rich harmony beneath.

She steps back, and the strings carry the music alone — broader, unfolding without the voice.

The voice returns with the opening theme, soft and pure, the pulse gentle underneath.

A broad climb gathers — the voice reaching upward, the strings lifting beneath, the whole sound rising together.

At the top the line holds, then eases over into a long descent, the support softening beneath it.

Only strings now. The voice has gone, and a gentle closing theme settles into its place.

The strings gather one more slow, broad swell.

Then it lets everything down — the sound thinning, sinking, easing into silence.