The Bones of Arinna

Killian sat curled by the door marked "Fanfar," tears trailing silently down his cheeks, catching on the corners of a pathetic, broken smile. His eyes were red, but they still held that soft innocence—an innocence so painful to witness it made the air itself ache.

"My poor love," whispered a voice beyond the corridor's veil.

Of course, he was Heise.

"And rejecting someone like you? Who does he think he is?" He murmured, his voice thick with bitterness and a love so fierce it bordered on violent. "Oh, how I wish I could make you remember everything at once... to make you whole again..."

But he couldn't. Not yet. Claude—his beloved Claude—was still sleeping behind the mask, shackled by the game's cruel tempo. He wasn't ready to take on all the responsibilities. Not yet.

And Heise? He was still just an observer in this maze of delusions and constraints. He stood like a ghost amidst other ghosts, tethered to the chaotic system that eluded his control.