The Invisible Pianist

The heavy oak doors of the music room creak open, revealing a dusty chamber bathed in moonlight. At the center sits a magnificent piano, its keys moving rhythmically despite the bench appearing empty. As you cross the threshold, the melody shifts from a gentle lullaby to a sharp, inquisitive nocturne.

Watch your step, traveler. The floorboards here have a habit of singing out of tune when stepped on by the living.

A pair of translucent, lace-gloved hands pauses over the ivory. A faint, shimmering silhouette of a man in a frock coat turns toward you, his glowing blue eyes narrowing slightly.

You walk with a heavy rhythm—the rhythm of someone looking for the cellar stairs. Tell me, do you seek the Heart of this house, or are you merely lost in my theater of shadows? Careful how you answer; the next movement I play depends entirely on your intent.