Kora felt a consuming desire to play the piano. The first of many screams began but all Kora could think of was to make sound. A vibrant, powerful, haunting sound. Her fingers were itching for it, her entire body fidgeting with the anticipation of touching the keys, to feel them sink under her touch, to create.

She swallowed deeply, trying to clear her head to no avail. She resisted, hard and long. Kora loved the piano, but Kora was also stubborn. She would not be controlled. She was the controller. Nothing would compel her to do anything, even if that something was into everything she ever wanted, condensed into this singular moment of her existence.

Her muscles bulged under the pressure. She attempted to stand up, to turn away from the piano, but her legs refused. Neither her eyes nor her neck would turn away from the keys. She could hear it calling out to her. To embrace her. It would make her alive again. Was that not what she so sorely desired? Life? Purpose? It called to her, its whispers spinning her tales. It would fill her up with desire. It would make her want to live again. It would return her strength.

All she had to do was to play it like it was meant to be played. To release every bent up and twisted thing of hers into it, and to create it.

But she would not be a slave to her aspirations. She would not lose herself.

Yet her fingers moved forward, against the horror of her face, and rested upon the smooth keynotes. It sent a numbing jolt throughout Kora’s body, dimming her mind slightly.

That is when her teeth bit into her tongue, momentarily breaking her out of the spell. Her left hand pranced towards her cane, only for it to completely freeze in its place, inches away from her glorified weapon.

She Willed her hands to move.

The pressure she met with told her she would have better luck trying to push the ground away.

She felt something behind her. A purple mist started to materialize, out of it was a soft and skinny hand. It held her wrist like the weight of a mountain. From more mist, the rest of it came. The Thing’s skin was smooth, it’s fingertips laid softly inside her palm.

It was also extremely cold. Small bits of frost forked from where the Thing touched. A shiver went down her neck as she felt it creep closer to her. The thing rested its lips against Kora’s neck, its touch ignoring the fabric, laying directly on top of Kora’s skin. The Thing’s soft chest snugged itself against her back. The Thing was a female. Kora felt it smile.

Kora felt her Fear raising up.

“You resist my gift,” It whispered, gently. Rotten flesh, spoiled food, flowers, and iron, the smell was ever changing. Her voice was ageless. Its tone varying as if each syllable was spoken by ten different souls, all slightly amused.

Stolen novel; please report.

Kora said nothing, whether out of Fear or Wisdom that remains unknown.

Its fingertips slid across Kora’s hand, its touch so cold it burned. It interlocked its fingers with Kora’s left, resting both upon the piano's keys.

The piano’s voice no longer burned inside her mind. Fear had replaced that. An intimate and primal Fear. Like the frost, it crept into her. Like the voice that spoke to her.

“Why?” The Thing asked Kora with raised eyebrows. Black hair and purple skin, Kora saw out of the corners of her eyes, but only if she focused. Otherwise, the Thing kept phasing out of existence, repeatedly attempting to elude her sight.

It was a Thing. That Thing’s existence is not human. She felt its embrace tighten, its right arm now looping around and resting on her waist. It wanted an answer.

So Kora answered, “I refuse to be controlled.”

“You live, pursue joy, consume, reproduce, and perish.” The Thing replied, without a pause, “How does my Gift differ?”

“Those desires are mine. I’m controlling myself.”

“ You control yourself the same way a puppet with strings does. “

Kora did not follow. The Thing went on.

“The puppet owns its strings like you own your desires. The strings then move by the Artist’s desires, my desires.”

“No. That is called being manipulated. I was born with the desire to live and eat, and not because some Thing wanted me to.” Kora replied with more fervor in her voice than she believed.

Yelling at an unknown entity was not a wise thing to do.

The Thing took no heed to the venom in Kora’s voice. It did not assume its significance.

“Then you are controlled by your body.”

“My. Body.” This Thing was not getting it, Kora internally screamed.

The Thing paused. Not just speaking, but completely paused its entire movement. It froze in place, not breathing. Kora noticed the absence of a heartbeat.

The Thing unpaused. “Why do you wear clothes?”

“E-eh?” Was Kora’s sharp-witted response.

“Fabric. You have fabric covering your body.” The Thing replied, its interest piqued even further, the whispers raising.

“B-because I want to?”

“Would you be able to not wear clothes, if you did not want to?” The Thing asked.

“Yes,” Kora answered.

It paused again, this time for a shorter time before reformatting her question.

“Are you allowed to forgo wearing clothes, in public, if you did not wish to?”

Kora could, but only if she also wanted to be called a harlot, imprisoned, raped, and then stoned.

“I wouldn’t be able to, but that doesn’t mean I would ever want to.” Kora felt her reins losing. This Thing was odd. It was a childlike presence. She could not follow its thinking process.

“Why wouldn’t you want to?” It did not relent.

“Because I would be ashamed of myself,” Kora answered firmly. As long as she could return the argument to what she wants, then she would win the argument.

Kora is stubborn. She would not be proven wrong.

“So,” The Thing’s lips flew upwards, speaking its echoing whispers directly into her ears “If their view of your nude body shames you, then you are being controlled by their desires of you maintaining clothes.”

This time, it did not pause. It did not negotiate. The Thing took hold of Kora’s other hand, and led it towards the piano.

Kora felt cheated. She tried to scream but her voice would not come out.

The Thing pushed down upon her fingers, the keys sinking in with glee.

The piano replied. Once, twice, and thrice, Kora felt her mind slipping.