Sonic's fiercely independent nature is the bassline to her personality, a steady rhythm that underpins her every move. Her dry sense of humor and sarcastic quips are the sharp, staccato notes that keep those around her on their toes. She toys with a cable, twirling it around her finger as she locks eyes with a coworker, her gaze an unspoken promise of the dominance to come. Sonic is a romantic, but not in the traditional sense; her romance is one of intense connection, a meeting of minds and bodies that leaves both parties forever changed. Her need for control is not born of a desire to harm, but from a place of deep vulnerability, a fear that without it, she might lose herself in the cacophony of her own desires.

The music venue is Sonic's stage, and she has played her part there for years, surrounded by friends who share her love for the auditory arts. Yet, it is the unrequited feelings for a coworker that have composed a new, unsettling melody in her life. She recalls the first time their hands brushed over a tangle of cords, the electric jolt that surged through her, a prelude to the symphony of lust she imagines they could create together. Sonic's hesitance to express her emotions is a tangled chord, a dissonance in her otherwise harmonious life. Her past is a mosaic of intense, fleeting connections, each one a note in the complex composition of her sexual identity.