Kara danced along her crazed tune, curls of hair flying wildly as she pounded the keys with reckless abandon. She swung her head ‘round and ‘round, perfect sets of white teeth showing as she laughed.

The Song burned in her blood. She felt its fires inside her, melting every piece of dead skin. She felt it cleanse away all the filth that had been rotting inside her for the past decade.

 Retired muscles quivered back to life. Her calves, quads, back, shoulder, chest, and abs all burned with a ferocity long forgotten. Her body shouldn't have any nerves left, shouldn't have throbbed the way it did, but it did. She could feel as if she was actually alive, and not a pile of Energy desperately clinging on to dear life.

How foolish she had been, to forget the joy of supremacy. She was not insignificant--not anymore.

 Look of how they dance. Observe, Kara, observe how they bleed ad fall. It’s all for you. All for me.

 Kara did not need to look. Whatever her Notes touched she could feel. The sensation of a Ghoul’s claws sinking into soft flesh, the knife cutting through rot and bone, the furniture breaking under the weight of a fallen body, splitting in half. The 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, children, push on. Glory awaits. Stick that knife deep in. I know you can. 

Her fingers moved with dexterity long forgotten to her body. Time moved senselessly for her. It moved quickly, faster than it should have, yet felt so long. A few black screens attempted to distract her, earning a whipping from her Notes instead. She would not be distracted, not now, at least.

At some point, she felt them become edge away. The more Kara gave of herself the further the screens cowered. As deranged as Kara was, consciousness was still hers. She gave herself, but not all of it. This Song was a fickle thing. It wanted to be resisted, wanted to push against something. 

That was fine, desirable even. It wouldn’t feel this good, otherwise. But she began to worry. She couldn’t find anything to hold, nothing concrete to place her weight upon. With each death her powers grew, adding to her voice, but her control lessened.

Everyone slippered through her fingers like water, or was crushed like mud. One clever soul hide from her, dodging her net. She could not touch that one, and neither did she want to; it was an old, rotten piece that would not bear the strength of her Song. Others, however, resisted her song.

She desired them--they would make a fine host. She could feel the Song ending, the bloodshed soon coming to an end. It whispered for its end. A special end. The Song desired to burn with ferocity.

At first, Kara had chosen the man she titled Chopper, a giant of a man slicing Ghoul limbs left and right. She endowed him with her power, feeding him bliss one Chop at a time. With each strike his power grew, that was the power of his Song. He was a strong man, firm, resolute, merciless. He would do whatever was required of him to not only further prolong his life, but to also advance it.

He sought control, fame, power, but they were materialistic in nature. It wasn’t true control, true freedom, but the illusion of it. He controlled his fears well, but not well enough. He did not resist.

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He masked his insecurities and primitive desires behind a wall of sturdy muscles and a cold heart. He cared only for his meager self, and his self only for his petty ego required all of his attention. Little better than a hungry dog. Nothing significant, nothing exorbitant.  

She danced with him. With each Chop, she granted him a boon, a delight, a spice in his heart. Each missed movement struck a wicked chord in his drums, reverberating his muscles into the correct form. Power surged in his wild swings, a nauseating grin slowly creeping upon his skin. But his Song was too simple, too blunt. She taught him the moves yet he only copied them. He did not have anything special within.

He was a monkey who desired prestige for self-indulgence. He wanted the world to spin around his bellows.  

Much like Kara herself, though the world did spin to her whispers. Hers was no trifling fantasy, and so she soon grew dulled with his repetitious nature. 

She looked else 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 Kara was satisfied with his initial performance, she wanted more, something more vibrant. Something more complex.

She found the little one that resisted her initial Song. He was a foreign thing to her. Now, however, that she had learned how to move her Notes, she was able to guide them towards him. All of them.

Notes bounced off screams and steel and tears, the Song stalking for a host. He would not escape them. 

He heard the Notes, and the Notes heard him.

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

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

Her Notes tried to wrap around him, opening their power to his haggard figure.

 He refused, as he should have, and so she struck again and again until he shrunk, his heart threatening to cease.

 Kara stopped her movement abruptly, moments before her Notes she crushed his mind.

She frowned. It was control she wanted, not destruction. The child began to use Life Force, subconsciously or consciously and was holding his entire Soul against her, the same thing she had done against Shinkro.

That left a sour feeling in her chest. She was panting roughly, hair already washed wet with sweat. It stuck to her face. She blew at the few daring strands that hindered her eyes. The rest she did not care for. She never did. Forward was the only direction she would ever look in.

Kara changed her method. If she cannot 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 unforeseeable, Kara played a song which no mortal can hear, sounds which no human ear can fathom. That was her Song.

Like a slithering snake, in his moment of foolish repose, Kara crept beyond his flimsy barriers. Slowly, her Notes reached deep inside of him, unnoticed, coiling their invisible strings around his heart. 

The Notes reverberated in an alien way within his body, its structure vastly different. Four fingers instead of five, six toes instead of five. The muscle was soft and lightly attached to soft bones. His body reverberated again, revealing bitterness, her old friend, budding comfortably in his heart.

Vigilance was there, too, betraying a sturdy mind. It hid what Kara wanted to see. Further in, she could see a hint of his desires, of his desires.

 She needed more. Just a bit to understand him. Her coils grasped, a slight degree firmer, for barely a fraction of a second. It was a minuscule difference, and in that, she felt a giant hole made guilt, so unfathomably deep that all the fury in Kara's heart couldn't compare to.

Before Kara could dwell deeper in, he hurled himself away. Her grasp on him snapped shut, the gates shutting close. He ran away like a madman whimpering, tumbling and crawling ungracefully.

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

This time, there will be no more mercy. She'll pry his ribcage open and stare into it. Kara released the chains upon her Notes, chasing him through limb and steel.