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It was two nights after The Irminsul Incident. Pantalone was alone in his apartment for once, usually he had one if Zandik’s segments to keep him company, yet no one would be around. Pantalone was sat on his chair. Processing. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t showered, he hadn’t slept. His eyes were dry, in fact. Pantalone had lost the last remnants of his beloved Zandik and he didn’t know what to think. He looks up at the ceiling, his mind drifting to Zandik’s passing, then how each of his segments left or passed themselves which Pantalone hadn’t expected. He closed his eyes and imagined Zandik standing with him, his hands possibly resting on Pantalone’s shoulders. Or simply resting on the back, looking down at him lovingly.
Between his fingers was a slim cigarette, the exact thing that Zandik swore to Pantalone would kill him long before he himself could die. Each time Zandik had said that, Pantalone would chuckle and brush it off. But it was Zandik who died first. Pantalone never imagined the scenario, losing all of Zandik. He wished he wasn’t living it now. Pantalone’s eyes drifted from the door to the piano a few feet away from his chair. The last time that piano was touched, Zandik had been playing for him. It was a brutal and elegant instrumental. It felt melancholy, if the very music was a warning of what was to come. That night, Pantalone had fallen alseep with Zandik in his arms. For the last time. And that piano was a bittersweet reminder of the worst of his days. But previously, the best.
As Pantalone rose to his feet, he brings his cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag. “Zandik always hated a dirty piano. But I won’t be cleaning this, not after it was the last thing of mine he touched.” Pantalone whispered to no one but himself. He closes his eyes and sighs, pulling his cost tighter around himself as his hands brushed against his doorframe. He looked back, the piano still open. Pantalone left it that way, the way Zandik played it—left the bench askew, the keys slightly out of tune, the polished wood and ivory dusted with build-up, and the wide open. Pantalone knew Zandik would want it clean, but for himself to touch the prized possession rather than Pantalone. So Pantalone left the dust to settle. He turns back around, leaving the room and closing the door with a soft thud.