#The Concertmaster ( Bloodborne verse )

[withperfecttempo]

“Will we see you again, Miss Concertmaster?”

‘You will. We will meet again in another life.’

[ Art credit/Commission by: https://damien-v-grimm.tumblr.com/ ]

[withperfecttempo]

It’s So Overt It’s Covert

@bcwblade ( Simon the Harrowed )

Sona had spied the same man from a distance; garbed in a tattered coat and a hood. Though his long fingers appear to attempt to conceal his face, she could glimpse between the open spaces that he wears a dirtied and torn blindfold covering his eyes. She had seen him conversing with Yurie; a conversation she could barely make ends of due to her distance and their soft voices. However, judging from their positions alone, Sona could not help but find herself partial to the notion that the man had made his way to the church in search of sanctuary; and for whatever reason, Yurie appears to have declined his entry. 

Her lip curls into a grimace at the thought of a colleague turning down someone in need; particularly so if he had grappled his way from Yharnam. Sona lifts her hand and presses her fingertips against her chin. He must be from Yharnam. Perhaps. Brows knit at the other possibility that he is an outsider. She lets out a deep sigh of disapproval at both cases. The point stands that the beggar seems to be requesting asylum and was denied; by a clergy member, no less. 

She sees him standing by the door this time. Keeping herself where she stands, she listens for any exchanges taking place. Angling her head, Sona could see a fragment of his shadow. The further she cranes her neck, the stronger her confirmation is that no one else is keeping him company at this present moment. She quietly strides towards him, her focus on him holds as she notes that he appears to be staring at the moon overhead. 

Her hands lower and clasp just below her chest as she approaches him. With her head slightly leaning to the other side, she continues her quiet examination as she breaks the grasp. The freed hand gently taps the man’s shoulder to get his attention. Sona then waits for him to turn to her before she beckons him to enter the church.

[withperfecttempo]

Deliver Us

It settles so comfortably in her arms, the celestial being. The head laying atop an extended palm, its legs draping over her arm and resting on the soft grass. Despite the searing of the gash in her side, Sona wills her hand to cup its cheek. She peers at its still form, noting the tatters and lacerations that litter its body and the patches of yellow that ooze from them. The silence solidifies the longer Sona remains among the sea of lifeless kin. 

Ragged breaths rush from open lips as she beholds the creature. Her throat tightens and her eyes brim with tears as she looks upon it. She searches its full length, delirium in her eyes, for any slightest sign of life until she hears a distinct sound that emerges from her swirling thoughts. Sona’s eyes lock with the creature’s and strains to listen for it to become clearer. 

The celestial child’s whimpers prick the night air, stirred by the slightest winds that delve through foliage and bobbing sealed blossoms. Feeble sounds, helpless, yet persistent; as if sounding only for her. She could hear it, sense it in her arms. It pierces and penetrates into her chest. She could feel faint tremors through layered robes and see the abating glow of its eyes. Her hand curls, fingertips brushing away a fallen droplet of her blood dabbed above its eyes. She soon shifts her wrist so that her thumb dusts underneath the eyes, as if gently smoothing its wrinkles. 

“Hush now, my baby.” “Be still, love, don’t cry.” “Sleep as you’re rocked by the stream.”

Sona musters her ebbing strength to pull it close, cradling and pressing her cheek against its temple as blood spreads and stains the white of her attire. Through pursing and trembling lips, she lets out shaky and soft shushes against its cool, translucent skin. The sounds muffle as she moves to press her lips to and murmurs into the skin. She winces at the barbed pain, yielding and withstanding the waves through gritted teeth. It demands her to stop her movements to which she continues to defy. 

The sounds of winds and whimpering subdues, her eyes gradually growing heavy as she watches its eyes darken. Her strength seeps from her body and she yields to her weight.

“Sleep and remember my last lullaby.”

Heavy footsteps approach from behind, crushing the flora and sinking into the ground.  The steps soften and cease directly behind her. Sona closes her eyes, embracing the celestial being as she presses her face against its crown. 

And with a swift rush of air, the heavy blade descends upon them at long last.

“So I’ll be with you when you dream.”

[withperfecttempo]

@vilestblood asked: 🤝🏻 38 

…because you are running out of time.

[ Prompt list ]

The smell of cinder floods the research hall. The subjects’ wails echo throughout the once holy establishment as they scour and scurry through the halls. Eyeless, headless, forever wandering, they claw through one another and bang onto the wood and walls. Their voices blend into one another, shattering glass, roaring flames; sounds of hell erupting and soon to engulf the establishment.

The lauded Angel of Music sinks among discarded corpses. Her cracked veil lies at her side while empty eyes gaze into nothing. She knew that she had long fallen and this sanctuary would inevitably collapse with her. 

It is until a firm arm pulls her to her feet. 

“You’ve got to get up.”

Despite Sona’s will long gone from her being, her body immediately follows suit. She stands and her gaze finds its way to the Crow as he, too, coughs inward into his arm from the surrounding smolder. Sona sees him with a resolute illumination in his eyes as he looks at her. He keeps his hand on her arm for a moment before descending to find her fingers. 

“Come on. Let’s go.”

[withperfecttempo]

@vilestblood

‘Would you like to hear a joke about a staccato? Never mind, it’s too short.’

[withperfecttempo]

Dead Sea

@of-forossa liked for a starter.

The Choir’s First Chair holds a small pair of shoes in hand. Laced flats, a worn brown that clearly shows that the owner had done her best to be attentive to its cleanliness. The laces drape over Sona’s hands, the ends hanging mid-air. This was neither the first nor the last she was requested by one of the children who had offered themselves for the greater good of mankind to the Choir doctors and surgeons. Her thumb smoothes over a particular scuffed patch at the tip before lowering herself in front of a shelf and neatly tucking them into a slot beside other various mementos. Within other compartments were worn parchment with illegible writing, drawings, broken pieces of graphite, shoes, ribbons, dried blossoms and grass, makeshift dolls, and worn prayer books. 

She forces a smile to the former knight as she relays to him in sign. 

‘We think of ourselves as angels. Saviors of mankind.’

A hand reaches out to a bouquet of dried flowers in another compartment. Her finger skims the stiff petals, taking care not to place too much pressure to shatter it. Withdrawing her hand she straightens her posture and continues her sign, this time seemingly more hesitant as if she had come to realization at this very moment.

‘But maybe we are different kinds of beasts.’

[withperfecttempo]

@vilestblood liked to be serenaded to again

Plip plop plip plop

The patients all have spoken about the endless depths of the sea. A sticky sound and singular drops that can be heard through the muffled churning. To submerge into the deep waters, basking into a higher plane of thinking by encasing themselves with formless insight. Upon acquiring eyes on the inside, nothing else would matter so long as they withdraw themselves into their heads. 

Splish splash splish splash

Rain still falls, dappling closed buds and rolling off thick foliage. The bow glides across strings, it resounds through the empty halls as if reaching to any available ears. Sona’s eyes close as she draws the bow, a melancholic tune formed from a quiet habit. The pattering drops creates the time signature while the tune weaves within and around. She paces the chords where it could be elongated for vibrato while her fingers shift and slide as if dancing in the deluge. Those were the days of childhood awe and aspiration. Though now every drop upon her face is a reminder of her presence and duty, they still serve to be a sympathetic companion. 

Sona longs for a day when she does not fear to lift the cap for droplets to kiss her eyelids and trickle down her cheeks.

When writing, gestures, and music may not suffice, she would talk to the rain. 

[withperfecttempo]

Heysel ( @yellowfingcr )

[ Cont. from here ]

Though among those touched by the Great One’s blessing, gifted with a great deal of insight to see everything as they are, complete enigma of the indescribably should come as little surprise. The shock of the flourishing fluorescent bulb that sits atop the body is reminiscent of a sea flora is something Sona has little exposure to working with during her time in the Upper Cathedral Ward. One that glows and waves along with the flowing current as it peers and reaches for the moon hanging over the ocean’s wavering, glassy surface. She can hear her voice clearly, each word pronounced without yielding to confusion, an utmost enthusiasm in delivery. 

Here she stands before the stranger, completely clad in the Choir’s attire, stiff. A secret sect of the Healing Church that consists of the most elite and skilled members. Sona follows Heysel’s keen observations of her. Her parched throat begs for her to swallow to feel itself again but Sona refrains from doing so. 

Sona feels herself slipping as she narrows possibilities of her loyalties. The white and black attire, she could very well be a member of the church. She still tries to grasp at words spoken and matching them with vigorous gestures. Her eyes widen behind the cap, a bizarre and rare puzzlement alighting her shaded visage. She shifts her head, a pulse of embarrassment prods in her chest that her head had gradually leaned to a side without her realizing. 

Heysel’s outreached hand alerts her, prompting her to take hold and shake. Her brow quirks at her grasp, surprising herself with the lack of firmness to the grip coupled with the slightest twitch of her lip. The touch is polite enough, not exceedingly tight or soft. Sona nods once she had finished speaking, an effort of a smile tugging at a corner of her mouth before dropping into a neutral display. Curving a finger, she shapes her hands and angles her wrist to fingerspell: ‘S-O-N-A.’

[withperfecttempo]

@yellowfingcr asked:  回 !

Gestures prompts - 回 = PATCHING A WOUND

Despite her protests, Heysel prompts Sona to yield by pulling a chair towards her with firm hands placed and pressed upon her shoulders to prompt her to sit. Sona lets out a huff, releasing her efforts of insistence that she could manage her injuries on her own just as any other members of the Choir who are well-equipped with medical expertise. She follows Heysel’s gentle guiding hands atop a wooden table, her wounded arm laying bare under the glare of moonlight. The lacerations from flailing patients drive through her robes and flesh. Scarlet seeps into white, showcasing the frenzied assault that Sona had endured while trying to conduct her research. 

Sona could hear Heysel’s mutterings and followed her gestures of guidance to angle her arm in certain directions to peel away the soaked layers. Her words muffle to her ears, however, as she only thought about the subjects. Keeping a still visage and stiff lips, she notes a certain quirk in her voice. Sona’s gaze settles onto a bed at the other end of the room as Heysel carefully dabs and wipes away the blood. 

[withperfecttempo]

@vilestblood asked: “ 👫”

[ Send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship ]

Crow would be undoubtedly intrigued with the Church’s weaponry. Though Sona’s not completely sure how to utilize a handful of them, they kind of learn about them together. Neither of them are too knowledgeable about the armaments but Crow is likely to pick up on them faster than Sona and may end up teaching her for kicks. The most she might figure out is what the sacred mist in the Rosmarinus contains.

Sona’s more so the embodiment of an Angel of Death and Music (the latter moreso a nod to Phantom of the Opera’s “Angel of Music”, a musical genius) and the Crow is a bird of prey, another symbol of death. Sona essentially eases the patients and children to their deaths with her music as they undergo experimentation while the Crow ravages flesh through torture and other painful means. They have very different approaches to death as a concept and methods going about it. 

Just as Sona has witnessed a handful of Crow’s more vulnerable sides, so has he, especially as he gradually notes how much more sorrowful her music becomes, he suspects she has a plan beyond supporting the Choir. Sure enough, he catches her one day, for the very first time without the blindfold mask just as she is about to throw herself out of a window of the clinic in Yharnam. Sona tries to fight back when he stops her from doing so, trying to free her wrist from his grasp despite how futile it is due to their strength. She has built her resolve until he grabs her wrist and for the first time he witnesses an array of very raw emotions: shock, brief anger, panic, all of which tumble into utter despair and defeat when she stops fighting and essentially begs for him to release her. He would either try to talk her out of ending her own life or grant her a swift death after she has granted him moments of peace and so he returns the gesture for her.

Though Sona is used to Crow’s presence, sometimes she can’t help when his methods scare her from time to time. It’s almost as if he intends to do so especially when he points out her reactions and even joke about how she should be familiar with them after multiple visits. She could never be too sure if the next visit will be the one where he kills her but until then, Crow appears to be taking a bit of amusement to startling her with creative entries. 

[withperfecttempo]

Song Analysis for Breaking Benjamin’s “So Cold” based on my interpretation and progress in Bloodborne. 

// There are a lot of points of views this can be seen that tie into Sona’s Choir/Concertmaster verse that I can see in this track “So Cold” by Breaking Benjamin. I view Sona’s role in Bloodborne as both Angel of Death and Music who eventually concludes her own “duties” once everyone else’s is complete. She’s doing a similar thing to the music video for this track where there is a man who is carrying a burden that eventually sinks him. Sona delivers people who have been kidnapped, sought to for help, patients and even children from the orphanage to their “deaths” which is also her doing so for herself in the end. Their fates have been sealed, it’s just a matter of accompanying one another on the bleak and gruesome journey. 

“Crowded streets all cleared away One by one Hollow heroes separate As they run”

Crowded streets are now littered with beasts and hunters have been dispatched to clear them along with people locking themselves up.

Hunters, themselves, are splitting apart and creating distinction with some going mad with bloodlust and turning into the most unsightly beasts.

For “hollow”, I was thinking of the term used in Dark Souls where the soul is no longer present, leaving a violent and lost entity that seeks destruction, ravaging in flesh and blood.  

“You're so cold Keep your hand in mine Wise men wonder while Strong men die”

Sona is “cold” in a few senses: trying to keep herself distant enough to not grow attached and hurt by never taking her blindfold cap off to prevent eye contact with anyone else. This is also somewhat ironic as usually the church is supposed to be a welcoming body while also maintaining exclusivity. She is also “cold” in the sense she is trying to survive in this situation. When living beings shiver in the cold, their bodies are trying to maintain and seek heat to preserve themselves. She is doing that, shivering, seeking and preserving empathy and warmth in a place that offers and harbors very little. Sona is barely surviving, mentally, but she is persistent due to her fondness of the patients, orphans, Ebrietas, and even her colleagues. She’s holding onto living to ensure that those she cares for “pass on” as a means to overcome the beastial scourge.

“You’re so cold” can also be said from the perspectives from the patients, children, and Sona to the other Choir members who are extremely fixated on discovering truths to ascension with little regard to human emotions. 

The coldness can also refer to death in personhood/humanhood and physical death where corpses lose warmth once they are no longer alive.

“Keep your hand in mine” can be told in the points of view of Sona as she is a figure of comfort to the patients and to an extent, even a motherly figure to the orphans. In the same token, Sona, herself, finds comfort in their presence, especially when they sense that she is under distress as she witnesses them undergo horrid experiments. 

The “wise men” are members of the Healing Church, Mensis Scholars, and Choir.

“Strong men” are the hunters. 

“If you find your family Don't you cry In this land of make believe Dead and dry”

First two lines could be if the orphans or patients learned that their family has become beasts. Can also mean Sona, finding family in the patients and orphans; their growing attachment to one another so they end up becoming more vulnerable to one another and not wanting to separate.

The “land of make believe” can be the version of the nightmare that is concealed by Rom. It’s “dead and dry” but there is so much more going on beyond the veil.

“You're so cold But you feel alive Lay your hands on me One last time”

Even as the patients or children near death or ascension which kills a part of their personhood, they still seek Sona to accompany them as they pass on. 

The last two lines can be taken from Sona’s point of view and those being experimented on. She remains as a source of comfort and support. They want to relish the warmth and hope she provides as much as they possibly can.

“Show me how it ends It's alright Show me how defenseless You really are Satisfied and empty inside That's alright Let's give this another try”

I imagine virtually everyone in Bloodborne has some feeling that they aren’t going to survive the mess that has befallen upon Yharnam.

No one, not even members of the church are safe from the scourge as seen with Vicar Amelia. 

Sona has gradually come to see that ascension and enlightenment isn’t possible without a degree of loss of the self. However, she believes that anyone who comes for help is much better off than those still in Yharnam. Sona has held onto the belief that it’s better for people to be transformed into something closer to Great Ones and still hold onto a fragment of themselves than to turn into beasts go completely mad and later, possibly killed. So the Choir would continue to try with their experiments. 

“[ Softly]  It's alright 

[Stronger/Louder] It's alright It's alright It's alright It's alright

[Screaming] It's alright It's alright It's alright 

[Softens again, resigned, complete, bitter acceptance] It's alright”

The repeated lines of “it’s alright” throughout the song demonstrates an array of tones: simple reassurance, hollow contentment, utter hopelessness, false promises and resolution. The various intensities in which the “It’s alright” is sung showcases the colors and internal thoughts of all parties, the Choir, patients, orphans, and Sona very well. On another note, it can also be taken as utter resignation and defeat as everything around them has gone into ruin as a whole.

Finally, it’s the last and only consolation to herself, the act of kindness reserved for herself as there is no one else standing with her. Sona could very well be killed by the Hunter or beasts at this rate. However, she also has a possibility where takes her life into her own hands with her sense of self barely intact.

[withperfecttempo]

It’s Alright

“God, I’m nauseous...Have you felt this?” “It’s progressing. I can see things…”

The hunter stands by the doctor’s hunched form. She barely holds herself upon her fours as her limbs and head jerk at different angles. The sudden movements along with her twitching eyes and fingers gives a complete sense of anything but an evolution. 

“I knew it, I’m different. I’m no beast...I…”

She lurches, barely keeping a hold of herself as she nearly gives. With a sharp intake of breath, she shifts suddenly to holding it and presses her lips together firmly to silence a gag. 

“Oh...God, it feels awful...but it proves that I’m chosen…”

She turns to level her gaze with the hunter despite her neck straining to maintain her head.

“Don’t you see? How they writhe, writhe inside my head…” “It’s...rather...rapturous…”

Her mouth creases into a crooked grin. A jittery snicker weaves through the silence. But the hunter cuts through her laughter with a quick raise of their bloodied saw. It promptly descends upon her, plunging and serating her flesh until her voice dies in her throat; the thud of her corpse and spray of blood upon the discolored surface mark her final moment.  

The hunter shakes the fresh coat of scarlet onto the floor, further staining the darkened wood already scattered with vague xanthous splatters. A sound of creaking wood and slow footsteps alerts the hunter who pulls his attention away to the source of the sound across the room. The hunter watches the woman approach, her movements are stiff and waning all the same. Moonlight peels away the shadow as she walks, revealing the last standing member of the Choir. She takes another step only to stop, lightly dragging the leading foot closer to the other as her regard fixes on the doctor. They settle their gaze upon her gloved hands, noting her lack of armaments within her grasp.

She shifts to look at the hunter, the silence creeping in and solidifies, save for the howling winds and ringing church bell. Her arms raise upward, hands curve, her fingers press and hook onto her cap. She secures the curvature of the blindfold and lifts the cap from her temple revealing a soft yet brilliant hue of blue hair that cascades into a braid that drapes over her shoulder. Though highlighted by an ethereal glow, the hunter would surmise her face has, too, once matched her hair in the same regard. She once bears a gentle and hopeful mien, only now bearing a pallid countenance of hollowed cheeks and a pronounced sickly complexion. The hunter could guess that her eyes used to be a much more vivid blue, but they could not discern if the brim of darkened skin below has significantly dimmed them. Given the notable slouch in her overall posture, the hunter could denote that there is a considerable weight that she must have been shouldering for a time. There were no exchanges of words needed for the hunter to gather from her focused stare that she had led them to the clinic; that she is free of the Choir’s duty to see to her own. 

The woman steps towards the doctor’s corpse and places the cap by her head. She lowers her gaze as she passes by the hunter and traverses beneath the doorway. 

Atop the highest level of the clinic is the closest she can be to the hanging paleblood moon. She could see this through the open window that lies ahead. Her steps carry her towards the aperture framed with broken wood and she peers downward. 

She admires the moon, changes her gaze to the space below, and returns once more above.

Her hands clasp and press against her chest. Placing her feet atop the edge, she soon allows her weight to shift forward.

And for the first time, she prayed.

[withperfecttempo]

@vilestblood asked:  ‘  we  could  have  been  happy .  i  know  that ,  and  it  is  perhaps  the  hardest  thing  to  know .  ’ (( 👁👄👁 ))

[ Prompt list here ]

For the first time, Sona’s eyes met with the Crow’s without obstruction of the Choir cap. It all plunges into her now, the bite of the wind, his stare, the fact the Crow, for once has finally gaze upon her entire face. The complete truth of it all is the very fact that he must have known what she had aimed to carry out. To such an extent, he, too, must know why. Widened blue eyes meet with a pair of cold greys gazing down upon her. A stillness blankets his visage as he holds her wrist with a single hand. There is no pressure to his grasp, only keeping Sona in her place and preventing her from further movement. The very hands that had carefully guided hers to wield the threaded cane now keeps her from her fate. 

She wants to believe it, that in another life, where the children can laugh, patients walk the path to recovery. For humankind and Great Ones to simply be rather than attempt to reach for the unthinkable by tearing through the fabrics of existence. One may call it a dream where blood has no place other than to course through veins instead of filling defiled chalices.

For beasts to lie dormant and the singing stops.

A time when they could have been friends. 

She jerks her hand but his fingers do not yield to her force. A scowl etches on her features as Sona continues to strain. Anger, frustration, a desperate mania wells within her; a deluge of utter sorrow and helplessness tumble and spill at their feet. Gradually, her strength wanes after every effort as it is clear that the Crow is just as stubborn. She slumps onto the floor, her knees giving way to her weight against the old wood. Her body shudders to her sobs, head lowers until her forehead presses against the back of his hand. The other hand that had tried to wrest his hold now clutches onto it. 

She needn’t words or gestures to indicate what she had long wished for. 

‘Please, let me go.’

[withperfecttempo]

which traditional japanese aesthetic concept speaks to your soul ?

間 ma

ma   is   the   term   for   the   Japanese   concept   of   negative   space.   Though   commonly   used   to   refer   to   literal,   visible   negative   space,   ma   may   also   refer   to   the   mere   perception   of   such,   without   necessarily   requiring   a   physical   compositional   element.   ma   combines   the   characters   for   door   and   sun,   which   together   depict   a   door   through   the   crevice   of   which   the   sunlight   peeps   in.   ma   is   filled   with   nothing   but   energy   and   feeling,   thus   enabling   growth,   sparking   creativity   and   permitting   freedom.   It   is   the   momentary   pause   in   speech   needed   to   convey   meaningful   words   and   the   sincerity   of   a   feeling,   the   silence   between   the   notes   that   make   the   music.   ma   is   an   emptiness   full   of   possibilities,  like   a   promise   yet   to   be   fulfilled.

tagged by:  @obliviorum and @vilestblood // Thank ya’ll for the tags! 

tagging: @rosespun, and anyone else who wants to can take a stab at it!

[withperfecttempo]

// This post details some thoughts and headcanons for Sona’s Concertmaster/Choir AU from Bloodborne. I’m not finished with the game (I’ve spoiled a lot because I couldn’t help myself) so some thoughts may change as I progress. I’ll definitely elaborate and/or re-evaluate them in future headcanon posts. 

***Please do not reblog or steal***

Skills and Research

Sona has assisted the imposter Iosefka with her experiments on the humans who entered the clinic. Most of the people who entered are usually in a frazzled state and Sona helps with calming them down to ensure cooperation and a smoother operation. She has endured incredible amounts of discomfort hearing them cry and scream in agony. Her only reassurance is that their “ascension” is better than being hunted as a beast. 

She shoulders an immense sense of guilt with each experiment conducted. Given the situation with the scourge, she’s forced into choosing the “lesser of evils” to which she believes the Choir and their work brings about suffering that may help humankind’s prevention in beasthood transformation in the long run. Either they allow them to succumb to turning and later being hunted, stripped of their humanity in that regard, or be transformed, essentially kept safe, and maybe retain parts of their personhood.

Sona climbed the ranks as one of the brighter orphans, to Choir member, then to Concertmaster. Her primary role is to provide comfort to incoming orphans and stray humans and delving into ground-breaking research on music as a way to commune with the Great Ones without requiring a kin and/or Great One to act as emissary. 

Though the Celestial Emissary was created to communicate with Ebrietas, Sona has discovered that Ebrietas responds to the music she plays when she was granted audience with the left-behind Great One.

However, being able to commune with a Great One takes a toll on her as making contact with Great Ones gives her insight and drives her closer to a frenzy. Despite her attempts to withstand these effects, it isn’t possible due to the Great Ones’ unfathomable nature.   To prevent this, she would limit her exposure and take sedatives when she feels herself losing ground.

Sona has high arcane capabilities, being able to cause grievous damage to foes with the Augur of Ebrietas and A Call Beyond. However, she is not as adept of a hunter in hand to hand combat as most of her colleagues. 

When documenting her research, Sona would keep to a strictly objective lens as a means to prevent possible outlets for frenzy to herself or anyone who may read her journals and notes. She would record her observations as is, save for describing the senses as closely to commonplace occurrences and objects while allowing room for conclusions to be drawn. 

Belief in Retainment of the Self During Transformations

Sona appears to be one of the very few, if not the only, member of the Choir who believes that varying degrees of the self can be preserved after passing the various stages of transformation. Sona’s belief in this notion grows when she has played music for the orphans and those who sought the false Iosefka’s help to cure the beastly scourge and see that they react a certain way to her music before and after their mutation. 

She notices similar trends with reactions with the living failures and celestial beings soon after their experimentation which solidify her belief that there is still some sliver of humanity in them.

Miscellaneous

Aside from donning the Choir set, Sona wears her hair in a long braid that’s usually draped over a shoulder. 

A play on words and roles, Sona doesn’t “sing” along with her peers, literally and figuratively. There is an irony that she, as a Concertmaster or First Chair, should lead her peers, but she doesn’t. She merely sees it as a separate title due to her differing expertise and disciplines. She also sees that the Choir sings but they don’t listen in terms of having empathy. An example of this is how they commune with Ebrietas strictly to gain insight despite her mourning.

Having seen her colleagues turn into brainsucker mobs makes her gradually realize that what they are doing and what they become is not much different. One being is hungry for insight and the other party craves flesh. Both have lost their humanity. 

Sona’s title does not make her superior to her colleagues. She simply has a different discipline altogether along with the fact she isn't as devout to their cause as a majority of them.

It is possible that Sona may have assisted the hunter in killing the imposter Iosefka. Despite carrying on with her duty, she tries to empathize with the fake Iosefka while watching her downward spiral. She sees that her colleague was suffering despite the other’s efforts to interpret it otherwise. Sona simply could not give her death with her own hands.

[withperfecttempo]

Headcanon - On Music Research to Commune with Great Ones and Others

***Please do not reblog/steal***

// Sona’s primary recognition and function within the Choir as the concertmaster is discovering and researching the effects of music among humankind, beasts, kin, and Great Ones. She has fused her talents of composing and playing a harp-like instrument with findings of how her music elicits reactions from an array of beings. With such discoveries and deeper study, she soon paves a way for research in communication methods and possibly even gaining better favor with the Great Ones. As music is universal and transcends realms it can be interpreted as how it can affect states and planes of existence, therefore, being able to have effects on all existing beings in various dimensions. The Great Ones are incomprehensible to the human mind. It can be deduced that aside from the simplest understanding that Great Ones exist and they have motives, their existence and communication methods exceed spoken and written language due to limitations of conception(s).

Some examples I’ve drawn from are with Gascoigne and Mergo’s Wet Nurse from Vaatividya’s insights video. The music box used in Gascoigne’s fight as he tussles with his human and beast self shows that throughout the stages of transformation, it’s effective a certain amount of times (3) until he eventually succumbs to the beast side, losing his humanity and self completely. He also chuckles in another music box interaction when he is summoned and it’s played near him (3:24 -3:37). Mergo’s Wet Nurse, a Great One, reacts to the music box being played during her fight by side-stepping (3:39-4:08) which can be interpreted as a dance.

Initially, Sona assisted the Choir with calming and sedating the orphans as they’re being prepared and entering experimentation phases. Her skills spurred recognition when she continued to play music for the living failures and celestial beings. Her skills are later attempted on Ebrietas, who received her performance with intrigue. There was a time when Sona had attempted to comfort Ebrietas as the left-behind Great One mourned for Rom. Since her pursuits have not been previously explored by others, there is no record of it. She is the first and only member of the Choir who investigates and records her observations through cases of trial and error.