Music has always been one of the most beautiful things in the world to you, way before you knew the truth about your connection to Apollo. Music is essentially complex, it can convey something sometimes not even words can: emotions. There has always been this inevitable connection to it. You’re music, and music is you, there’s no doubt.

You remember when you sang in public for the first time, a silly Mother’s Day song at school, your own composition. It wasn’t particularly good, and you were crying a little, so the words were a little slurred, but it’s a day you’ll never forget. The day you knew you were in love with music. Music has always been your main passion, no time for other things, so you’d never imagine that’s where you’d be now, sitting under a tree going crazy over a love song. Your own love song. Expressing yourself has never been so goddamn hard. It’s like the words don’t make any sense, and you feel like your feelings don’t either. It’s the first time you’ve felt an attraction so strong for something (or someone) that isn’t music, and it had to be Connor Stoll? The troublemaker? Really? At least he has the most charming smile at camp, in your opinion. Shut up, stupid feelings, that won’t sound good in a song at all! This feels pointless but maybe it will help you figure things out. Well, it would, if you weren’t completely out of your element today. You try to muster up a melody and physically cringe. Why the hell does it sound so bad? Why is love so confusing?

You’re stare at the crumpled papers with messy writing scattered around, considering drowning yourself in the lake when, fortunately, you’re interrupted. Fortunate would it be if your disruptor wasn’t your, so to say, muse. Terrible timing.

“Music girl! What’re you up to, huh? Polluting the camp? How rude of you. What’s this?” Connor laughs to himself as if he just told the funniest joke ever, picking up a random crumpled paper to read whatever atrocity you’ve written there. Can this get any worse?