It was at the moment that Roderich picked up his neglected fingers. The tips grazed the forgotten pine of the piano keys and he gingerly pressed down only hard enough to let a perfect A resound in the room. Taking a deep breath, the man then started playing all over again. A new song was played humbly. Softly. Gorgeously.

It was no ordinary Bach. No ordinary Beethoven or Mozart. No, it was not Breval or Tchaikovsky, Csardas or Popper, Brahms– who were they anyways? They had a pitiful existence– pitiful compositions compared to the melodies that were cascading from the stringed percussion instrument at the hands of the magnificent.

It was Roderich Edelstein. And nothing– no one could intervene.

Those pernicious voices spewing hateful lies were silenced at once. The music washed into his ear and his heart. Drowning the horrid hallucinations. They struggled to shout up at him– to silence him– but nothing was heard. Nothing but his harmonious notes. And harmonious they were.

Gilbert sat still as stone– shocked to say the least. In all his years, he'd never heard a song so beautiful– no. Not even beautiful did it justice. And he had no control over the frigid stream that glided down his cheek.

Then the music faded with a final chord.

Roderich opened his violet eyes at last. Contempt replaced the dread and fear that one reigned in its place. Roderich breathed slowly again, smoothly, and ran his hands across the keys. Communicating to the instrument in unrecognizable ways to even I.

"What was that?" Gilbert attempted to talk, but his voice came out cracked and choked.

Roderich glanced over in his direction with his same plain face as always. Then, ever so slightly, his cheeks brightened, and he cracked a smile into his stony apparel. The smile even reached his eyes.

"Something new," he replied with a gentle tone you've all but dreamed as he looked back to his piano. "I decided to call it The Real Truth."

And his nimble fingers replayed the main theme as he glanced back to his companion again with a question: "Why, did you like it?"

Anyways, I really hated how I ended this story, and I feel more at peace with this mini-epilogue. BTW I meant no offense when I said the composers had a pitiful existence– I love Tchaikovsky and Popper myself! I was only trying to make Roderich look better. But what do you guys think? I'd really appreciate your comments ^.^ So THIS IS THE END. FOR SURE!