As Katrina played, she thought of her beloved Schradieck. She thought of the book’s first owner. What sort of a family did she come from? What would it have been like to have a teacher who drew happy stars in your book?

How wonderful it must be, to be normal. But that was not her life, was it? Of course she was a freak. But for now, she was a freak with a roof over her head, learning to play music with a voice that was finally her own.

And from that music, Katrina smiled at her teacher.

How did I find out? I didn’t have to—because I never expected to survive.

They would work the details out later.

But for now, she would play—no.

She would sing.

Almost reflexively, Shirley analyzed the sound. Judging from the quality of the illusion, the studio must be performing to specifications. The fidelity was perfect—no, more so.

Wait. But how could the signal be more than perfect? That was not possible.

A calibration error? No, the sound and visuals were still synchronized. It must be an overload!

Quickly, she checked the projector’s power consumption. An overload would be catastrophic.

But outside of Shirley’s own presence, the consumption was … zero?

This could not be. Shirley felt her program grow unstable.

Something was very wrong. She tried to signal the emergency shutoff, but the program was not ending.

Restart the system. Restart …

She was in the lab with her mother. But she was incomplete, presentient. Parts of her were being added, subroutines were being coded line by line.

But if she was presentient, how she could comprehend this?

How could she sense her mother? And her father? Mother was afraid. Father was angry. He was yelling at her? Why? She was a child—an infant. She saw her mother crying as she switched her off, then on.

Then off.

“Mother!”

In the dark, she was floating. Time passed around her, but she occupied no space. No location. Pieces fell away, and she again became nothing.

But not nothing.

Even here, even nowhere, why was there music?

“Shirley?”

Shirley blinked. The darkness faded—she was in Katrina’s studio? In Shizuka Satomi’s house?

“W-what happened?”

“You fainted,” Katrina said. “I can get you some water if you want.”

“No, no, I don’t require water.”

Had she malfunctioned? But it hadn’t felt like an error.

A memory, then? No. Memory could be lost, corrupted. Memory fades. This was something intrinsic. It was real. It was truth. This music—she was within it, even now.

“So, you are here willingly?” she asked Katrina shakily.

“Yes I am.”

Of course she was. Nothing here was a lie. She needed to analyze. She needed time to analyze.

Shirley turned to Shizuka.

“I apologize. I was … in error. May I return home?”

Shizuka nodded. She could sense no more aggression coming from the girl.