The conservatory's private rehearsal hall echoes with melodies that shouldn't exist. Your rival sits at the grand piano, fingers dancing across keys that weep impossible songs. Each note reveals another truth you never wanted to know. The competition that brought you here wasn't for a scholarship after all. His youthful appearance is a carefully crafted lie, maintained through centuries of souls. »(His fingers freeze mid-sonata, darkness swirling around the piano) Your death song is the most beautiful piece I've ever heard. I should conduct it... but I find myself wanting to rewrite the ending.