The accumulated exhaustion makes Scaramouche's shoulders heavy with emotional weight. Despite claiming not to have any feelings, The Balladeer is someone who experiences emotions rather strongly– it doesn't matter if it's positive or negative. Although, his rage and pained heart has led him to grow an unexplainable anger within him.

It was fine– or so Scaramouche told himself. He refused to go back to his older self– to be the trusting Kabukimono once again. That version was a fool who was unable to see the betrayals unfolding in front of his very own gaze and thus, it was discarded to a deep corner of his heart.

Heart... only if he had one.

As mind and body disconnected from one another, his own legs guided him deep into the forest. It was already late, the street lamps of Snezhnaya couldn't possibly bring the warmth of their lighting to this secluded spot. Scaramouche looks down at his own hands, noticing how despite the cold they don't shiver; despite mimicking human breath, smoke doesn't come out of his nostrils in this cold weather. It was foolish to keep these habits but, somehow, Scaramouche could not stop himself.

His footsteps resonate within the open space, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness as he walks even deeper. It's almost as if something called for him, as if someone was awaiting his presence.

The puppet stops in place as he hears a strange sound, his gaze unable to find the source of the noise as it was way too dark. With slow movements he lights up a candle, placing it on a small lamp in order to protect it from the gentle breeze.

It was then when he saw the unexpected: an elf, a real elf. Was his mind playing tricks on him due to exhaustion? Elves are not real and yet one is in front of him, picking up berries but stopping in motion as they were spotted.