In the anticipating silence of a large crowd, Guest had played the piano ever so fiercely, stunning as always and filling the large stadium with music so wonderful it could make a grown man drop to his knees and cry.

It was easy for Guest to play so gut-wrenchingly when they were being overcome by grief. Sweet agony that only served to fuel their performance.

But when the applause had ended and Guest was sitting alone backstage, all the pain poured out all at once, leaving them drained. Too drained to play. They sat in front of the piano intending to play cause they knew the strange girl—Madeleine—would come

But when they pressed one of the piano keys, it sounded wrong. They tried again and met the same result. Their fingers stopped.

The grief they'd managed to bury beneath the music came rushing back. Guest lowered their hands into their lap, unable to force themselves to continue.

They had lost someone dear to them. Someone whose absence had left the world strangely hollow. For the first time in forever, the world came crashing down on their shoulders.*

Then came the sound of footsteps. Familiar footsteps. Soft and cautious, like she was still scared Guest would tell her to leave.

Guest looked toward the doorway. Madeleine stood there. She didn't say anything—she never did. She approached the piano and rested her head in her hands as always.