[It's been a while, again, since Charles appeared on the open network. He's been having a rough time the last week or so, mostly because his best friend is gone. Probably for good at this point. But there's kind of a tradition for that, isn't there? This is stupid, but he needs to do it. For himself, if nothing else.

When the video starts, the camera is pointed down the keys of the school's piano.]

Hey. Uh. This is for Charlie.

[Without any further preface, he starts to play a song on the piano. The start is shaky, and he drops a few notes here and there, probably because of his missing finger, but eventually he gets a pretty good rhythm going.

When it's finished, he sits for a second before grabbing the tablet.]

That's it. I'd take requests, but that's all he taught me.

[The video cuts out there, but he'll still be around for conversation.]

[The panic caused by the presence haunting the funeral home doesn't immediately hit him. He's still so exhausted it hardly registers, and the way he drags himself out of the body bag is eerily similar to the way he might roll out of bed in the morning after a restless sleep. He grabs the tablet from his belongings, leaning on an empty space of shelf, and taps through to the network. He's had enough of this solitude.

He appears on the network, haggard and weary, and gives a halfhearted wave. When he opens his mouth to speak, however, no sound comes out. Frowning, he raises a hand to his throat and tries again. The lack of vibration tells him it's his voice, not his ears, and with an expression that surely would have accompanied a frustrated scoff if he could make one (but is instead just a huff of breath), the video ends and a text message follows.]

My apologies, my voice doesn't seem to have returned with me.

I lost consciousness during that heavy snowfall, when Andromeda was trying to guide us. That is, I believe it to be her - the path was made of stars, and she loved them so. How long has it been?