The arc bends, but not toward relief. For a moment, there was light, the faint promise of other futures, the whispered possibility of joy not yet known. But reality settles like dust: unchangeable, familiar, and quietly cruel. No matter the paths imagined, no matter the days dreamed up or the possibilities stacked like cards, what you wanted, truly and deeply, is gone. And that life will never come.

"Heartache" breaks the shape of what came before. Where the previous songs tried to stand tall or hopeful, this one lets itself collapse. A guitar speaks alone in the beginning, improvising freely, not searching for answers, just expressing what the heart can't contain in silence. Then, without warning or resistance, a melody returns, never reshaped, each time unmistakably belonging to one person. It plays again, not because anything has changed, but because nothing has.

Bandcamp

Twenty-Sixth Shade (Heartache)

Some memories never leave, they just whisper softly in the silence.

First Shade (Whispers) [Music Box]

Two guitars converse in warm, unhurried phrases, joined by the soft heartbeat of cajón and shaker. Their sound carries into the stillness of a midnight glade, where moonlight drips between the leaves and shadows sway to the rhythm.

Glade

The third movement, a waltz, presents the feeling of happiness stolen—pride in another’s achievements, yet unable to fully participate in the joy. "Turgor" represents the tension between holding something back and the yearning to express it. It’s a dance of restraint, a reminder of the unspoken and unseen in the midst of outward celebration.

Vernal

Eighth Impulse (Turgor)

A fleeting glimmer in the dark, "Spark" captures the moment just before the last memory fades completely. There is no longer a grasp on the emotions that once defined the journey—only an empty stare into the infinite, as Whispers watches the light in the glade, its glow slowly swallowed by the vast void. The song is a brief prelude to the end, where even reflection seems to lose meaning, leaving only the quiet expanse of uncertainty.

Spark

A fleeting moment of clarity, a river of memories shimmering with the illusion of beauty. "Glass River" is the quiet realisation that dwelling too long in nostalgia only reveals how fragile those memories truly are. Here, the aching grief of the past is momentarily forgotten, giving way to an almost lighthearted reverie—a flow of beautiful thoughts, once cherished, now reimagined with a certain detachment. The song dances between two sections, almost as if the mind is lost in a dream, only half-aware of its own fragility.

But beneath the surface, something shifts. The Minore section, with its rich, dark tension, breaks the dreamlike state, pulling the listener back to the pain that lies hidden beneath these ‘pleasant’ memories. The shift is sharp, unexpected—like the shattering of glass. Anger lingers in the air, bitter and sharp, reflecting not only sorrow but a certain disillusionment. Here, the past is no longer viewed with rose-colored glasses but with a seething awareness that the beauty was always intertwined with something darker.

"Glass River" is the moment when the past is both held close and released. It is a place where nostalgia is not just a source of pain but also a vehicle for anger, a river of memories that shatters against the rocks of the present, breaking the illusion of beauty and revealing something far more jagged.

Spark

Claire's Prelude