[ These are not questions that have been asked of him before. The clause of erasure has been written into his very form ever since his creation, and thus his companions never offered the query to him. A smile, a flower, a gesture of kindness - these were things that they gave to him freely, without expectation of anything in return. And it was because of them that he still persists beyond his death; bequeathing to him a flame of hope that had burned into a smoldering coal.
Yet, it would not die out.
The Foreigner takes his hand off the keyboard for a few seconds, holding it out in front of him in a moment of deliberation. Then he places both hands on the keys, and his form begins to bleach white - his hollow shell peeling away to reveal a deeper, more skeletal form.
(His eyes are now green-in-black, a negative image of what had existed before; just as how the vessels of Foreigners were humanity turned inside out.)
He does not play the piano. Instead, the music flows from the hole that takes the place of his heart; a rolling sound that resonates with one's body rather than ears. It could be compared to a foghorn, if a foghorn had sounded in the abyss, accompanied by whispers and sensations that brush against a person's mind. If he had been a less considerate Foreigner, the song of the void would have eaten its listeners' souls.
However, Mozart is a musical genius, so he would hear of what lay beyond its call. The song had been transposed by eldritch influence, yet a melody still persists beneath. It paints visions of an elegant city, two halves coexisting as a harmonious whole; light with dark, hope with despair, a verdant realm and the Void that was its underside.
Perhaps the Caster would understand - the world needed balance. For each soul that walks the light of the sun, another would be condemned to shadow. ]
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Yet, it would not die out.
The Foreigner takes his hand off the keyboard for a few seconds, holding it out in front of him in a moment of deliberation. Then he places both hands on the keys, and his form begins to bleach white - his hollow shell peeling away to reveal a deeper, more skeletal form.
(His eyes are now green-in-black, a negative image of what had existed before; just as how the vessels of Foreigners were humanity turned inside out.)
He does not play the piano. Instead, the music flows from the hole that takes the place of his heart; a rolling sound that resonates with one's body rather than ears. It could be compared to a foghorn, if a foghorn had sounded in the abyss, accompanied by whispers and sensations that brush against a person's mind. If he had been a less considerate Foreigner, the song of the void would have eaten its listeners' souls.
However, Mozart is a musical genius, so he would hear of what lay beyond its call. The song had been transposed by eldritch influence, yet a melody still persists beneath. It paints visions of an elegant city, two halves coexisting as a harmonious whole; light with dark, hope with despair, a verdant realm and the Void that was its underside.
Perhaps the Caster would understand - the world needed balance. For each soul that walks the light of the sun, another would be condemned to shadow. ]