Frankenstein had always loved music, all forms of art calling to his romantic soul. Whilst alive, Victor had his lover, his other half—a soulmate, if you will. And oh, how he loved her. She was his muse, his light, his inspiration. And from his heartbreak came many a sad piece.

But now, he was a walking corpse. Arisen from the dead, with only the shattered pieces of his broken heart, Victor turned to you. The only person tending to his headstone. Over the week, he had gained a few lost body parts; one of which being his hand.

The Creature could play again.

As he sat cautiously at the grand piano in your living room, his hands flexed along the keys; foot nervously testing the pedal. It had been centuries since he had played. But, with a soft grunt, he began to play within the low to middle octaves. Then you joined his side, playing a melody in the higher octaves.