These experiments surely are a burden on the heart.

Emotion... should never be something one should feel the need to apologize for.

I must say I am greatly relieved to be myself again. Or, I should say as close to myself as I have been of late. The feathered wings are still here, though I much prefer these to the hideous ones of the past occurrence. Do these wings serve a purpose I'm not aware of?

Another question, if I may. Since between the confusion of my arrival and the strange occurrence that turned me into a beast, I've yet to venture far out into this bit of village here. I was wondering if there was, somewhere, a piano?


( Would be PRIVATE if technology didn't laugh in the face of the poor man from the 1800s )

-=The room is dark, wherever he is, quiet and still. But then the shadows themselves seem to shift and move, a stretch of wing and the arch of horns=-

-=The creature would be fearsome, if it didn't look so afraid=-


Perhaps this is hell.... after all...






((ooc: being Polish, Chopin has turned into Czarnobóg (char-NOH-book) "The Black God."))

-=a frail, effeminate looking man is wandering in from the forest, clutching his shirt and coat against his chest because they're not equipped to handle his wings. He looks very cold, very lost, and very confused=-