Music is my anti-drug

Emy

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Iliril of the Chant

"Oh," he said softly, wondering if that feeling of disappointment came from the fact he thought such a disastrous issue could be so easily fixed or from the amount of naivety he had shown in even entertaining the idea. It was simply done. That was all. Even if the world healed itself back up, it wasn't like he could possibly go back there in his life time anyways. Even if the High Mage decided to return, what was there to return to?

But maybe, he thought. But maybe-

Iliril tilted his head as he felt Max's hand come down gently. He looked off to the side. "S-sorr-ry," he said. "It w-was k-kind of a b-bad t-top-pic an-nyw-ways. I d-don't us-suall-ly t-talk t-to p-peop-ple t-this m-much."

With the sounds of Manta Carlos City around them, Iliril had to wonder if the World of the Diamond had ever been this full of life. It was so noisy, it was so bright- "I h-hope t-that m-man w-was r-right."
 

Der Lampman

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"I hope so too... for you." Max absentmindedly kept her hand where it was, and then started to run her fingers through his hair as she bit the inside of her lip in thought. Truth be told, she would rather have a world where the only magics that existed were the simple magics of discovering a new place for the first time, or the magic of losing track of the time among people she could call friends, few as they may be, or the taste of good coffee.

But to see Iliril in distress over this matter... well, she could put aside her own hopes and silently hope for his instead.

Upon realizing what her hand was doing up there on Iliril's head - currently, playing a soft sonata on an imagined keyboard - she flushed the slightest bit and drew back. He'd said sorry again, which made her want to say sorry in reflex, though she stopped herself. This would go nowhere if that looped, she thought.

Max brought her thoughts back to a previous statement and asked, "Why not? Your voice... it's calming to listen to, unlike mine... it would be a... waste. To keep it hidden."
 

Emy

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>.< Sorry, it's been a hectic month.

Iliril of the Chant

Iliril looked at her in disbelief, searching feverishly for some sign of mockery that simply wasn't there. "T-thank y-you b-but it's r-reall-ly n-not," he said, feeling each jerking stutter as if a hammer was beating down on him. Again and again and again. He shook his head, because calming to listen to? A waste to keep hidden? No, no. It was very kind of her to say otherwise but it felt- no, it was all wrong. He wanted to desperately hold that bit of warmth that surfaced at her words but he couldn't. It was wrong, he was wrong. There wasn't any use in keeping his hopes up.

"M-mayb-be it's d-diff-fer-rent h-here," he allowed, distractedly looking between people walking on the other side of the street. "At h-home, in m-my s-school, if y-you c-can't s-sing r-right, it's a l-litt-tle p-pointl-less. T-the C-Chants w-won't w-work f-for p-peop-ple w-who c-can't p-perf-form -them ex-xactl-ly as t-they w-were w-writt-ten."

The next words came out without him meaning to at all. "I w-wish I w-were n-norm-mal."
 
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