He wanders the street, aimless, more lost in his head than he is on these familiar car-lined streets. There’s been no change since it happened, the sky is still cold and grey, overcast with clouds that look far too heavy to be that high in the sky.
This isn't what he thought would happen when he left his home with nothing but whatever he could fit into the tiny suitcase he used to take on his day trips to the countryside.
The music starts, like clockwork.
Every day it is the same thing, the clock strikes five in the evening and the sound of strings will fill the air. And every day it is the same song, the same melancholic tune that inspires nothing but a strange, sad longing in him whenever he hears it.
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sforzindadancing_serpent
