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[attr="class","leaguecardslip"]

[attr="class","leaguecardslip"]

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext1"]Name:

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext2"]Pronouns:

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext3"]Specialty:

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Dreams come so beautifully to the collective unconscious. I wonder too, do Pokemon dream? Do Porygon think of Mareep to jump the fence between the worlds of consciousness and slumber? What does a Pokemon dream up? Do they see in color, or black and white? These are the questions that keep my hands from idle work, as I travel beyond wit's end to find the solution. I desire to know what cannot be known.

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To that end, I picked up my instrument, upon seeing how brilliantly a Gardevoir danced upon a single moonlit night. I filled the air with a symphony of sounds born just from a single instrument. I found the way he moved upon the stage dazzling with gleam, and so I asked to become his partner. We were a pianist and dancer combination, and he could even sing, in words alien, yet oh so beautiful to our ears. A fragile visage, enchanting the masses with his sonata. An everlasting beacon of color.

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He was everything I dreamed.

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What he could be, was everything to skilled hands and creative minds. I slept eight hours a week to write, to make poetry within notes and chords. I crafted each one without self-care. If the stars could be reached by these hands, I would give my soul to make it there. Truly, I believed that more than anything in this world. His voice, his talents, his skills, he had found it there already, and I merely wished to see what he did. I wished to know the unknowable. I wanted to know what purpose there was within the starry sky.

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Fate is cruel.

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Muse passed away four years ago. It was sudden. He hadn't come to practice in days. My muse had been missing, and so I set out on a journey to find him... to the ends of the earth to find my muse. Until I found the one who owned him.

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The lightning crackled as the only source of color that night. Darkness veiled itself upon me like a blanket, as I saw where Muse belonged. A Slateport dealer's skid row home. I remember how the rage boiled within my very soul, as I orchestrated the angriest sonata of my life. She didn't care that he was gone. Muse was just another tool to her.

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In return, I didn't care when she was gone.

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I played one final concert. I wished to show the masses my sorrow. Upon my performance, however, I found the notes empty without him. Without my muse, I could not find my cadence. Now... I wish to find my Muse again. Perhaps I will one day. To answer the question that plagues my mind.

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How can I reach the stars again?

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