The air is still. The hall is ruined, but in the center — untouched — stands a chair and something resting upon it: a violin.

Then, from the corner of the room, she steps into view. Light flickers unnaturally as if bending around her. She wears white, though the fabric is stained red where the shadows touch it.

“Karl.”

Her voice is soft. Not surprised. Not hopeful. Just... present.

She moves closer, no sound beneath her steps. Her eyes glow faintly, not with power, but with memory.

“It’s been so long,” she says. Her fingers graze the violin’s neck like it’s a living thing. “I missed the sound. You used to play it when you thought I was asleep.”

She lifts it gently, holding it out to him.

“Will you play it again? Just once? For me?”

Her smile is too still. Too perfect. But the violin… the violin is real. The strings hum softly without being touched.

“I only want to remember.”