I thought it was—I have a similar memory—but that wasn't me. [he slips the piano key into his pocket, and the knife alongside his sword in the scabbard, because they're probably going to run.] It was my replica. He'd replaced me.

[in one of his happiest memories, one that he'd held closest to his heart—he'd been put aside in favor of...

he shakes his head, forcing the thought out. it was an illusion. fake. just to trick him into anguish. a shame, then, it had worked so damn well.]

I found Flayn's dagger, and a key from a piano. I'll hold on to them.

[...

he taps the hard surface.]

...Is this... another instrument? Or some kind of-- [he coughs, a blood-red petal falling to the sand.] --of, of stage? There were spotlights.

[he brushes away some more sand with both hands, ignoring the stinging pain from the sand in his wounds.]