heart, feels the throbbing rush of adrenaline, that resonance of from a name, and turns to his closet, starting to deliriously nitpick at every article of clothing he owns. the banquet must be perfect, for what? for whom? Norton doesn't know beyond that there's prey to hunt, and someone to impress

there wasn't even a banquet held, he'd only started to plan it after he regained some semblance of clarity from the haze that gripped his psyche to move, to take action, to seize it, before it (he?) slipped away again from their (his?) grasp. Norton touches his chest, above the rapid beatings of his

he's almost given when he hears rumors of a rising star on the musical scene, a Frederick Kreiburg, and something lurches in him, a panic unlike any others he's experienced. He's stuck between anticipation, fear? joy, and a hungering Thrist, as he flags down his butler to send an invitation /now/.

So he goes, so he sees, so they meet at last. Norton, who invited every composer he knew to perform at his parties, who only felt like he was constantly trying to wear the wrong shoe when they all showed up different than what he expected (he doesn't know what he's expecting but certainly not.. them

many such letters demanding his performance to prove their own refined taste in the musical arts, he's had experience in rejecting these baseless fools, lest they tarnish his reputation, but it's the name signed below that pauses his hand from penning a rejection.

"Norton Campbell"

it's an invitation to perform for a social gathering held by the noveau rich that recently rose to claim the count's abandoned mansion, rumors were that he's a bachelor who's swimming in riches, tossing it around like a reckless upstart drunk on heritance. it's nothing new to frederick, who receives

frederick who one day, after so many days of questioning his own mind, notices an innocent letter laying by his dinged up porch. he doesn't know why he thinks of a dog delivering the letter, chalks it up to his mind demons acting up again, tears the letter open in the comfort of his small home

how did they get here in the first place? the memories are hazy, with cheap filler and logical deduction pointing out that these presumed sequence of events are reasonable, that nothing is amiss but after the nth time of a hand catching empty space, that they both start to think they've lost it

why does he always feel the irritating itch of discontentness, constantly haunted by the unsettling howls of a missed chance? a missed opportunity? something that slipped his grasp? or... a missing person?

only contains a sole grand piano, that of which he had taken care to choose only the most exquisite designs, the highest grade of craftmenship that he could find? on that piano alone, he could've bought a whole other mine but... a pair of matching silverware, a room modestly arranged next to his,

who does he search for amongst them? norton, rich with all the wealth he could possibly amass in this suburban plot, why had he felt enough to choose a rather small sized mansion when he could've afforded the biggest, the best? he decks the hallways with fineries but strangely enough the music room

a missing puzzle piece in their lives. frederick pauses mid action, when did he start carrying around a gun? why does he particularly take note of the empty couch behind him? /why/ is the couch placed there in the first place? a missing audience... but who? there are crowds of people but