Kora was in ecstasy. Pure, unfiltered, radical bliss that filled her every being, the way not even the strongest drugs would, the way sex never could.

Her body danced along her crazed tune, short hair flying wildly as she pounded the keys. She swung her head ‘round and ‘round, white teeth showing as she laughed maniacally. How low she had fallen, and yet how long had she waited for this, Kora wondered in the back of her mind. An afterthought really, for the Song burned in her blood. She felt its fires consume her, eagerly and brutally, every tip of her cold skin. She felt it cleanse away all the filth that had been rotting inside her. She felt it give her life and power, long ago taken from her. Retired muscles quivered back to life. Her calves, quads, back, shoulder, chest, and abs all burned with a ferocity befitting the nasty things she would soon do with them. Soon. Soon. Soon. Her anticipation grew. Soon, her revenge fantasies should come true. Soon, she will dance blew the wisps of blades. Soon, shall she spill rich blood.

Never again. Never would she ever relinquish control of the power to dominate. How foolish she had been, to forget the joy of supremacy, of absolute, uncontrolled, unfathomable control. She was not insignificant, not anymore. She was no political tool nor was she a weapon. The world danced to her Tune now, to her whims and desires and angers. And dance they did.

They were the tools and weapons. Look of how they dance, their limbs flying with reckless abandon. Observe, Kora, observe how they dance for your pleasure, her mind bellowed. Look how they bleed, look how they fall and scream. It’s all for you.

Kora did not need to look. Whatever her Notes touched she could observe. The sensation of a Ghoul’s claws sinking into soft flesh, the knife cutting through rot and bone, the furniture breaking under the force many types of corpses, living and dead, she could observe them all. All she had to do, was listen to it.

She gave them what they desired. She Sang them a tale of their immortality, of their impeccable value in this world. She assured them that Death would come only to the men and women near them, just never them. Push on, my children, push on. Glory awaits.

Her fingers moved with Dexterity long forgotten to her body. Time moved wildly for Kora. It was slower, longer, yet faster. One minute for a mortal was an hour spent in fifteen minutes for Kora. Time moved quickly, faster than it should have, yet covering a distance which was not there. A few fearless blue Screens attempted to distract her, earning a whipping from her Notes instead. At some point, she felt them become edge away. The more Kora gave of herself the further the screens cowered.

As deranged as Kora was, consciousness was still hers. She gave herself, but not all of it. This Song was a fickle thing. It wanted to be resistance, wanted to push against forces and to dominate it.

Some Songs you can’t give all of yourself to, or they’ll find no reason to keep you. She wanted to be consumed but not devoured. To feel insanity but not to become it.

That was fine, desirable even. It wouldn’t feel this good, otherwise.

Kora began to worry. She could feel the Song ending, the bloodshed soon coming to an end. It whispered for its death. A special death. The Song desired to burn with ferocity beyond its mortal limits.

It wanted to go out with a bang.

At first, Kora had chosen the Chopper, a giant of a man chopping Ghoul limbs left and right. She endowed him with her power, feeding him bliss one Chop at a time. He was a strong man, firm, resolute, merciless. He controlled his fears well, but not well enough. His resistance proved futile. The Chopper was a man who was as fearless as he was fearful. He masked his insecurities and primitive desires behind a wall of sturdy muscles and a cold heart. He cared only for his meager self, for his petty ego required all of his attention.

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This was a man she could control. With each Chop, she granted him a boon, a delight, a spice in his heart. Power surged in his wild swings, a nauseating grin slowly creeping upon his skin. But his Song was too simple, too blunt.

Inconsequential.

He was a man who desired attention, prestige, power, only for the reason of self-indulgence. He wanted the world to spin around his bellows.

Much like Kora herself, though the world did spin to her whispers. Hers was no trifling fantasy, and so she soon grew dulled with his repetitious nature. The Song looked elsewhere, leaving him disappointed and desperate. The Chopper tried to hold on to his euphoria, to claw at its slippery forms to no avail, for though Kora was satisfied with his performance, she wanted more.

Something more complex, more indulging.

She looked for the little one that Resisted her initial Song. His was a Dance her Notes were unable to mold, initially. Now, however, that she had given all but her most inner selves to the Song, she would be able to dominate his odd and sneaky Soul.

Notes bounced off screams and steel and tears, the Song stalking for its next Dancer. He would not escape them.

He heard the Notes, and the Notes heard him.

How utterly adorable, Kora heard herself say. Observe how he fidgets in place, looking for things he can not see, for beings he can not comprehend. See how he struggles, see how futile it is.

Struggle he did. Kora felt his Will, however meager, snap back at her with all its might.

Brave.

Or was it desperate? Kora could not Name him, not yet. She needed more of him.

Her Notes tried to seduce him, whispers of power and revenge and evils to accomplish.

He was not convinced. Terror reduced him.

Kora stopped her movement abruptly, her fingers no longer playing the piano.

Silence too can be loud.

Kora frowned. She wanted control, not destruction.

She called calmness to herself. She was panting roughly, hair already washed wet with sweat. It stuck to her face, giving her a haggard look. She blew at the few daring strands that hindered her eyes.

Kora changed her Tune. First in her heart, then in her fingers. A devious, cunning thing she would soon become. If she can not get him to open the Gates for her, then she’ll just have to find another way in. Under or above, a road that he does not know exists. Slippery and invasive, Kora played Notes which no mortal can hear, sounds which no human ear can not fathom. Weightless, light, beyond inaudible. That was her Tune.

In his moment of repose, Kora slipped beyond his flimsy barriers. Slowly, her Notes reached deep inside of him, unnoticed, coiling their invisible strings upon his heart.

Wrath, her old friend, had budded comfortably in his heart, though it was wholly overshadowed by the sheer amount of Terror in it. Vigilance was there, too, betraying a sturdy mind. It hid what Kora wanted to see. Further in, she could a hint of his Desires, of his delusions and fantasies.

She needed more. Just a bit.

Her coils grasped, a little bit firmer, for barely a fraction of a second. It was a minuscule difference, and in that, she saw Shame. Weakness. Loneliness. His was overspent, barely stitched together. Fractures were evident. It was hurt. It wanted rest. It wanted to forget.

Forget what?

Before Kora could dwell deeper in, the boy hurled himself away. Her grasp on him snapped shut, the Gates shutting close. He ran away like a madman.

Rage filled Kora. Her prey was escaping her. For the second time. The audacity of that child.

This time, there will be no more kindness. She'll pry his heart open. Kora released the chains upon her Notes. She would hound him down. Mine, mine, mine, the voices echoed.