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Her song.
It was her song that did it.
Because of her song, she was able to get 'her' attention. Because of her song, she was able to meet 'her'. She was locked up in that tall, dark tower, away from everyone else. But her song had saved her. It set her free.
'She' once appreciated her song. 'She' once loved it, always requesting that she sing her song. 'She' always said that it was lovely.
But that was in the past. Now 'she' had learned how to hate it, hate it as much as 'she' hated her.
But even when 'she' hated it, she still sang it to 'her'. She sang it to 'her' during the Vietnam War. Drove 'her' mad and made 'her' kill everything that moved. She did not witness it with her own eyes, but she did hear the screams; the screams of sheer terror and pain, the sound of guns, the cries of death.
And when she traveled the world with Chevaliers at her side, she brought it along with her. She brought her song along with her and sang it. She sang to the humans and enchanted them, made them happy, and smile, and clap.
But she didn't only grant them happiness, no. She didn't just entertain them. She turned them into monsters, too—like her. The only thing is, they are very stupid, much stupider than they were before.
And that was when they say her song was destructive, ruinous. It always meant death, and pain and blood—the transforming of a human to Chiropteran, from the estimated 1% to a 100% mutation, one person in every thirty.
When they had learned this, they—even 'she'—turned more intent to kill her. To silence her. To make her stop singing her song.
But she didn't stop. She would never stop. Her song had been everything. It was hers; it was the past, another part of her. It was her. If they were going to stop the song, they had to kill her…
And they tried and tried. From one place to another. From Asia, to Europe, to North America, they came after her song. Tried to stop it. Tried to kill it.
Because it was destructive. It meant death. It could shape the world, and its future.
And on that fateful day, on that final day of her Grand Performance in the MET, they killed the song and she that sang it. Her.
She had sung it, just before 'she' came. She had turned so many humans into Chiropterans. Would have dominated the world, had it not been for them.
And then 'she' came. 'She' came to stop her, to silence her. To kill the song, forever.
So they fought and fought, and slashed and attacked, and in the ensuing battle, she had lost.
But in the end, she was able to sing it for the last time. She was able to sing it to 'her', to 'her' who had first set her free to sing her song, to 'her' who had then come to silence it forever.
And for once, there was that small tinge of satisfaction, because 'she' who had first listened to her song, was the last one to hear it.
And perhaps Saya would have understood that the song might have not been really destructive. She could have discerned that the song was never meant to turn humans into mindless, blood-sucking monsters.
She could have understood that the song was just like the song back, back in the olden days, when its singer had been caged like a beast, high up in the tower.
And the song had only been an aria of her loneliness.