mortalitas infortunii ┊͙ genshin impact

as it all starts with | 悲剧

°.✩┈┈∘*┈🎭┈*∘┈┈✩.°

ONE'S TRAGEDIES
　" Appalled by it, to be done by another human; your own kind. It was baffling the more you leave it floating in your head. To
La Morte The Executioner at the very least. What a strange man. "

Marcel prompted himself down on the  cushioned mahogany bench that could fit two people. Just after, he adjusted himself.

Beginning with a few notes that started the soon astonishing tunes to the ovation that were never there; his right hand played, only a few notes that even someone with no experience can do. Then, lightly grazing both his hands over the monochrome in keys. He stopped for a brief moment knowing this piece changes drastically in the first 20 seconds afterwards.

He seemed lost as his nimble fingers flew over the keys like swallows darting in a pond for fish. Such a familiar feeling just by playing the black instrument that looked like the beautiful sky on the cool summer nights, coaxing impossibly soothing and amazing melodies from it. Assuming that only the multiple pedals that were attached on the piano was enough to make it some euphoria for your eardrums.

Quick movements over the keys that his focus was on, like a child or even a puppy scampering around a flower bed jumping around gleefully with an expression that matched their ambiance. The melody is sung through the heavy left hand, and the right hand contributes the étude's namesake with rapid scales and arpeggios.

Étude Op. 25, No. 11.

Such a way to show his Masquerade of Solitude. He savored every moment of it at times. Marcel couldn't relate more to this eloquent piece that felt like blistering winds engulfing your being, additionally with an instrument gaining your full focus; it truly was something so serene. A deathly, cold atmosphere he had.

Perhaps Marcel's admiration for these composers was the reason, to only merely replicate their tunes but it was astonishing mortals could create something so beautiful. His eyes were no more than mere slits as his pristine wispy eyelashes glistened with unshed tears, coating over purple eyes. The color thistle left residue on the tips of his hair; blending with his white, pale cerulean-tinted hair with a low opacity. While half of his face covered with the muse of comedy inspired mask.

La Morte, The Executioner. Didn't know what to make of his life; living in a series of contradictions. Or perhaps he himself was a walking contradiction. It was embarrassing being granted and to become a wielder of a cryo vision.

    A voice in his head pestered him for not even Archons knows how long; someone who sounded like the complete opposite of him. Marcel never listened to his words, what the voice ordered and what he did. The two had diametrically opposed viewpoints.

"Kill them, kill them, kill them." They would clamor ceaselessly.

     The voice felt like someone real, Marcel wasn't aware of what they looked like; he visualized the voice as himself, but inverted. As they grew and grew, the more people plagued his mind with dark faceless individuals like a sort of masquerade.

He wore an unusual facade, he didn't hide it with a smile; but a frown. Honesty was important to humans, and he gave too much of it.

     Not everyone would be honest with their feelings, you have this faltering mask plastering your face that's called a "smile". You'd had to coax it out of them because it looked fake. But Marcel's was too real, to the point where no one asked if he was okay; because he has always had that flawless facade, it was his idle expression, his resting face.