Iris stood atop a wall, one of the few spared by the explosion.
She held her faithful violin close, her lifelong companion.
As soon as the bow touched the strings, a first note echoed out. Then, with a rhythmical grace, she moved faster, and the distinct sounds merged into a frenzied melody, plunging every listener into a deep melancholy—a journey through distorted memories.
Seeing the expressions on the listeners' faces, Carla, while amplifying the effect through her resonance, finally understood the words Iris had once whispered to her:
"You must plant seeds to reap the fruit later."
At that moment, she was the one best placed to understand what all those infected were going through. After all, she had been the third to experience the danger hidden within those beautiful eyes... and the first to endure long enough to grasp, even slightly, the mechanism behind them.
Reflecting on it, Carla drifted into her own memories. One in particular. A night she would never forget.
