Work Text:
Behind his mask, the Elezen aristocrat sniffles. There is no seedier dump in the Twelveswood.
Still… An antique harpsichord for that price?
The mask comes off. He will have the witness eliminated. For now, a perfumed handkerchief will cover the scent of entrails.
He marks the Lalafell shopkeeper before searching.
There! He rushes to the instrument’s side.
The lid: exquisite, monarchic brown. An eyeball design? The words below… “Oblivion”.
He tests the keys. ‘Where did you acquire this?’
‘Haukke. Manor.’
The harpsichord’s eye opens and teeth pop out from the keylid. It snaps shut, biting the aristocrat’s hands clean off.