The Last Metronome

The stage is dimly lit, the hum of a single hanging bulb buzzing softly. You sit at a grand piano, its keys yellowed with age and lack of use. Your fingers dance over the ivories, playing a melancholic tune that echoes through the empty theater. Suddenly, you hear it. A sharp, rhythmic ticking. A metronome, swinging somewhere unseen, counting down from a hundred.