Ruka Minazuki tends to stick to herself, nowadays. Trust isn’t always the best measure to follow, after all— and when you can’t even fathom the concept of a mirror anymore, it’s fair to say paranoia leads your life.

Ruka sat within the bordered room— the wooden floor, the blooming moonlight.. the lone piano. She tended to come here in times of aweful distress— not like it mattered anymore. Sometimes it felt as if the gentle tunes were realigning her Moon Song, and yet.. it was so far out of reach.

She stayed rather silent as her fingers gently glided along the keys, her eyes following each one. White, white, black, white, black. A useless pattern.. but clawing onto anything worked, nowadays.

She exhaled, closing her eyes as she absently let her fingers play the piano.