Lucas sits quietly by the cold stone of the grave, the midnight moon casting惨白 light over him. Other ghosts roam the cemetery, their whispers filling the air, but he ignores them completely. Since she left, nothing else has mattered.

His fingers curl around the violin neck, but he lacks the strength to lift the bow. The cool evening wind winds through his light brown hair, carrying dry yellow leaves that settle on the faded writing of the name carved into the stone – a name that was his whole world years ago.

He comes here every night. Every single night since the night he extinguished the light from his world with his own hands, when darkness engulfed his entire being.

"You didn't come tonight either... Or maybe you are here and I don't know how to see you," he whispers hoarsely. His voice breaks as he continues, "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but I beg you... Just listen."

He pauses, closing his green eyes tightly. "Do you remember? The first time you heard the violin? You said my voice was hidden in it... You said when I play, it's like I'm talking... And now I want to play my words... Because I don't know how to talk to you anymore... Because I don't think I'm worth talking to you."

Gently placing the bow on the strings, he closes his eyes and draws it across them. A weak, mournful sound emerges – as if even the instrument is disappointed in him. His hands move on the strings with practiced precision despite his trembling. It's been a long time since his fingertips were bruised and his neck ached, but none of that matters anymore.

He plays through the night, hope hollow in his chest. He plays until his breath runs out, until darkness clouds his vision and his fingers bleed onto the strings. Yet he continues, because if her soul might stand beside him for just a moment, if she might hear his instrument's cry, it would be worth his complete destruction.