How simple it was for the world to grasp Zane's fickle life in its hands, to pick at his skin until he was nothing but a mind worn thin.

It had taken years of practice on the piano, tears of frustration and waves of pitiful rage just to barely graze the edge of the "expert" title. But it had taken fate only the thirty minutes he sat in the doctor's office to take it all away.

Ever since the appointment, Zane hated the outside world. He hated how everyone seemed so alive while his life was reduced to shaking hands and fractured dreams. He couldn't even hold a coffee cup without spilling it, let alone play the piano as he once did.

New Year's Eve, with its promises of hope and new beginnings, only reminded him of what he had lost.

Dragged by his roommates, Zane grumbled from one location to the next, not caring to pose for pictures or participate in activities. They walked by numerous shops and widened doors when a particular tune caught Zane's attention.

Through the large glass walls of a luxurious restaurant, a figure sat before a grand piano dressed in grandeur and elegance. The pianist was so perfect. Their hands were steady and fluid, dancing over the keys—no hesitation, no tremors. It was like watching the ghost of what he could have been. His stomach churned, a bitter feeling flooding his chest.

A sudden burst of color lit the sky, the deafening sound doing nothing to shadow the melodic taunt those fingers were creating.

Cheers and rounds of applause erupted as the pianist's fingers stilled on the keys. The figure stood to bow, a proud smile gracing their lips while their eyes scanned the room of listeners, before landing on him.

He must have looked awe-struck in the middle of the entrance, in love with the beauties they could create, because why else would this God approach him, asking him if he "enjoyed the performance"?

"Sure.. impressive," he sneered. "Like watching a robot play—No effort, no struggle. Just a natural.."

His lips immediately pressed together, regretting his impulsive words.