Placeholder She was born 20 years ago, a child of silence. Nature's lottery drew a card that made it so that her vocal cords gave out a hoarseness that sounded like the whispers of dead leaves and ash.

Neither sad or happy her loving parents named her Eloise. Whereas kids her age screamed, cried, laughed and babbled, she only could whisper. She was taught to write early, and was taught a limited set of signing, not enough to hold a conversation, but enough to tell people what she needed.

Her father, sadly had passed away when she was three, her mother, Francine, was all that was left of her kin.

Life in her small town had never been loud. It was the sanitized enclave of curated normal that was normally expected from a company town. Just like their precursors in the late 1800's, these towns were either bought or built by companies to house their workers so they could work mines or factories.

This time, it served more as the continuity of the creature comforts. No need to be too fancy. Have a company store, a mess hall and free wifi, the people were happy to sign on the dotted line.

And families were born into it, this new normal. For many religious demographics, this suited them down to the ground. When the world outside cracked and reeled, many sought change, adaptation, connection.

However, many went the route of "The meek will inherit the earth". It did help with the sales pitch for the company towns. A lot of opportunistic doomsayers took advantage of it, making deals with these new devils, as long a hot shower and a place of worship was included in the package.

They declared the collapse a sign from God, a warning to cling tighter to the comfortable, the familiar and the Sunday sermons.

So in these companies, the infrastructure was brought to you by the MakerFast Corp and the Local churches closed the gates.

You'd think inside the walls, introspection would deepen, but no, tt narrowed. Sunday afternoons were the new watercooler league and church politics mixed with corporate ambition.

Smiles became performative. The same hymns were played, the same sermons preached, the same stories repeated until they sounded like incantations meant to ward off the future.

Eloise grew up watching it all: the hollowness behind the piety, the suspicion of outsiders, the fear masquerading as virtue.

She could not name any of it. Her language was too small, too curated, too childproofed by adults who insisted it was “enough.” Her signing, could only point to things to what she wanted, to nod if she understood. When she wrote it down, she had to use simple questions and answers, since people couldn't be bothered to read anything that was past three sentences.

As the years went by, they discovered that Eloise could play the guitar. She took to it naturally and soon, her church heard her every Sunday, playing hymns for the congregation.

Music became her lifeline, her guitar, her true voice while her silence made her a sharper observer than anyone realized.

And little by little, she began to understand: The greatest quiet she lived in wasn’t her own.

it was theirs.

A month after her 17th birthday, It was about that time when she started paying attention to the outsiders, this caravan of people that rode these large robots, quad-wheeled behemoths of steel and plastic the size of elephants. These wanderers coming from beyond the gates. "Trundlers" they were called, after the way the robots trundled along. She saw the community greet them, with smiles and warmth, trade their wares and commodities, do a few jobs around town that the people had no time or couldn't be bothered with and once the job was done, off they went.

The gates were not even closed that she saw the tone change. Vicious sneers, accusations of sins of all kinds, treating them as if they were filth incarnate.

These are the same people she met at the church, played her hymns to and these people who preached love on the pulpit, and now she saw pockets of burning hate?

She couldn't put it to words, at least not spoken ones. But she knew, oh she knew if she wrote them, she would get in so much trouble.

It was in the month of June Eloise saw her for the first time, she came among the Trundlers, a short stocky old woman with a voice full of laughs and a wicked twinkle in her eye. She was a maker and a tinkerer of all kinds and rode the cargo dullards from town to town.

Her name? Massachussets Milly.

Eloise was helping to unload some goods and carry it inside the warehouse when Milly had noticed she didn't talk. She looked at her and thought "Hmpf, might be deaf that one." and so she signed to her "Hey! Need a hand over here!!".

Eloise brow furrowed. She saw Trundlers use those signs but they were alien to her. Milly tried signing again. Exasperated, she said "Can you read lips at least?"

She nodded and she tapped her ear and gave a thumbs up, followed by tapping her mouth and putting her thumbs down. "Ok so you hear but...don't talk? No one taught you roadsign? How do you go about getting by poor girl?""

Eloise shrugged. Milly looked at her "Well then, I guess I'll have to show you! Gottah be able to work with us folk somehow."

And then she started to teach her the hand gestures that trundlers, the light-hearted wanderers used to communicate with each other when things got too loud or they wanted to appreaciate the silence and not dare disturb it.

She also learned that dullards also recongnized these gestures. They would blink or use a tone to acknowledge a command. Imagine the surprise of her friends when she told a cargo dullard to park nearby using a series of gestures. Their friend jaws drop, seeing Eloise able to command these huge automatons like a sorceress her minions.

As the seasons passed, her fluency in roadsigning became an asset to the town. Trundlers sought her out when wheeling and dealing, and the elders noticed. Concern etched itself and the gossips began.

Milly would come and go with the wind. One day she stayed for a month. The two were inseperable and she even came to the church once or twice. Turns out she could belt out a hymn with the best of them. "I was a church mouse once!". That statement bewildered more than one of the ladies attending the service, incredulous to see such a character speak in a way that was always two fingers away of causing the collective pearls to be clutched.

One day after a long day's work at the warehouse, she showed Eloise something, a lapsteel guitar.

She laid out the instrument on her lap and Milly started to strum and slide on it "Shady Grove". "Now you try it girl! Show me you can make it sing as much as you strum!"

She tried at first, hitting a few false notes. And then, she started performing "Amazing grace". The sound of the lapsteel brought it a haunting quality to it.

"Not bad girl." Milly said "But you need to also make these boys over there wake up. Here let me show you."

Milly took a deep breath and began playing. A beat that looked like her fingers were dancing. Eloise mouth dropped open as she heard this. There was a fury, an energy that poured out of the music, an elation that cause the other trundlers to follow the beat, stomping, and at one point...

"THUNDER!!"

Milly kept going....

"THUNDER!!"

The Trundlers joined in a chant...

"THUNDER!!"

Then Milly began to sing..."I was caught in the middle of a railroad track..."

This is how Eloise got her first taste of music that wasn't an hymn. After the song, she signed "What was that? Was that music?"

"That was from a band called AC/DC. There are many styles of music past those gates Eloise dear. Would you like to hear more? I know one you'd like. I think "Nothing Else Matters" would suit you.''

Eloise eyes widened and nodded, her pulse quickening at the thought of new songs filling her head.

The next Sunday, there was a special sermon, dedicated to the "Struggles of the old world." Pictures were projected onto the wall of the church, displaying looters, advertisements that were considered "Not for kids" (The good parts were censored), and the what they felt what led to the collapse.

Fearful, paranoid and definitely aimed at music. Whispers were now louder about how "Trundlers should stay at the warehouse". "That Milly woman? She has no shame! A woman like her should be baking bread not riding cargo!"

Meanwhile, Music began to pour into Eloise.

You see music was filling not just her ears but her soul as well. The trundlers, they played all kinds of tunes. From Pete Seeger to Soundgarden, to delta blues to Celine Dion her ears caught them like fish in a stream.

Eloise learned them all. Every single one of them.

They even started to call her "Silent Strings". At the Church? She played her six strings, but in the evening with Milly? She played Milly's lapsteel.

"That lapsteel is like God decided to give you a new voice to work with. You play better than I ever could kid."

She signed "Thanks you Milly, for everything!!"

"Aw don't get sentimental! I did it for the laughs and besides, you can talk to us and the dullards. That's something you can take to the bank. Anyways head on home before they start another sermon on us again. Rest assured, the boys and I know what your elders REALLY think of us. We got ears and eyes open at all times."

Eloise looked puzzled, signed "What do you mean?"

Milly took out her tabby and gave her the headset, "Have a listen. There is a saying out there, the bigger the smile, the sharper the knife. We knew they were talking about us in one capacity or another.

As she listened, she hears the Church elders on a private channel. They were talking about "The sinful behaviour of the Caravan folk".

Milly sighed 'They talk like we brought the four horseman with us. And yet, they need us to fix their plumbing, build an extension to their houses or lord help us, another round of picking fruit. No Eloise, we trundlers can spot three things at a 100 feet. A pothole, a loose wire on a dullard and double-talking hypocrite. That's why we always make sure we know how which way the wind blows, especially when the source is a self-rightous gasbag!!""

Eloise jaw dropped.The realization, make something stir at her core. While Milly was happy-go-lucky, she showed she had an edge.

-------------------

Eloise came home, her mother was busy in the kitchen, she noticed that there were two extra plates at the table.

Her mother pickup on her questioning look "The Reverend is coming over with his son. You remember Phil right? He's working at the motorpool these days."

Later they came over and after saying grace they ate. All through the meal, Eloise felt uneasy. Phil looked at her not as another human being but as a toy he saw in a store's window. This covetous look, that a man gets when his more base instincts take the wheel. While not quite predatory, it was like more of a snake seeing an egg.

The reverend, while looking wizened, had this quality of a man who was used to have final authority in any discussion. A fatherly look to his face that was both caring and condescending, an irritant to those with clarity and a suffocating prescence for those who believed.

He coughed, "You know Eloise, We notice you hang out more and more with the trundlers. We get it. They are...interesting, but you see, The kingdom needs more arrows in the quiver. Have you given much thought about your future. Your music is god's gift and it would bring much joy to a family."

The words "arrows in the quiver" Made her blood run cold.

That church-talk for "Women have to bare more children." Ever since the great die-off, many communities sought to repopulate after gaining some stability and traction. And It was obvious her mother wanted her to marry the reverend's son, a man that many of the local women gushed about every Sunday.

Phil Chimed in "And the best part, they say that a godly woman is silent. You already got that one to a science eh Eloise?"

She smiled a plastic smile, but beneath the mask, she was half past unamused and two minutes away of total disgust.

The next day, Milly saw Eloise walking towards her with a pace that looked like she was walking to the gallows. She felt her sorrow and signed to her.

"Trouble?"

"Arrows in the quiver!!" Eloise signed back, nearly breaking down in tears.

Milly's jaw dropped. "Tell me everything!!"

After she related all the events of that evening, Milly sighed. "This is bad. I mean if you wanted this, that's another story, but It's not rocket science to see that it's definitely not your plan."

She signs "I don't know what to do..."

"It's not up to me to tell you what to do, you're a grown woman with a big heart. If you think this is bad, wait till you are married to a guy who's happy you are mute! No Eloise, You are not going to be happy that way. You are not mute, you have a voice, and I saw it roar many times when you play. The question I want to ask you, how badly do you want to keep what you got now?"

Eloise sighed. Milly continued.

"The road is free to all to walk. But the thing is you can't just up and go without a plan. I can tell you of one place that has been talked about over the mesh. It's in Texas, called the Forge Yonder. Go there, it's the biggest motorpool in Texas. You can find shelter, work and a life of your own. You are not just Eloise now. You are Silent Strings. That's your name among us if you want it."

Milly gave her a tabby. She punched a few keys and the navigation app came up with coordinates to the motorpool and her lapsteel, giving it to her. "Take these with you. Play for your supper and keep contact with me. I got friends all over the circuit from here all the way back east in NYC. "Silent strings" She signed "That's my name now." Milly Beamed. "It sure is. Now go play us a tune on the road. We are all right behind you me and the boys."

Later that night, one of the cargo dullards left. Eloise was on board heading east to Texas. Two days later The rest of the caravan was unceremoniously cast out of that town, citing "They led a young lamb astray" (After the workcrew finished their job!!)

------------------------------

About a week later, She rode closer to Marfa. The town, once a sleepy hovel had become a bustling town, This came to be After the events of what they called "The devil's three daughters", the three hurricanes that landfalled one after the other, caused the creation of the 'Texas civics corp', a group of volunteers that stepped up. The Forge Yonder, who had it's humble beginings as a junkyard, had become a motorpool, a maker space and a place where trundlers abounded as now workers were needed to build the infrastructure to what was now known as "A civillian-led disaster reponse force."

As she approached the gates, she signed to a man who was there. He responded in kind, and soon after some formalities, she was given a spot in one of the women's dorms.

She saw the women's dorms job board, where you could gain some money on doing odd jobs around the facility. Since she was able to work with the cargo dullards via signing, she was assigned to one to haul goods around the facility.

A week later she was out one evening and she played to the stars, the lapsteel resting on her. The amp beside her, an accquisition that was no bigger than a lunch tin, gave off a sound that was raw and honest.

Eloise started with a simple rhythm — not haunting, but searching. It drifted through the open bay, curling around the hum of machines and the clank of tools.

A young man heard it. His name was Lenny Finch, A lanky, wiry sort of fellow who had come from out east. A paid performer from the underground fighting league called "Fisticuffs gallery" under the nickname "The Ghost Of the Pacific North West". During his travels, he had gotten himself in a tussle with a TV network over a "Scared Straight" ambush Leaving half of security nursing their lumps and bruises. After being accquited from the trial, he had heard of the forge yonder and made his way there.

He had been there for two months doing jobs across the motopool.

He followed the sound and found her by the forge wall, her head bowed, fingers working with that quiet fury only musicians and mechanics understand.

He smiled, stepped closer, and signed, "Hello".

She didn’t sign back. Instead, her guitar answered him — a rising phrase, almost like a human voice.

Lenny sat down across from her, on a bench made from scarred two-by-fours — solid, unpainted, honest. He kept time with her, tapping the rhythm into the wood. The sound of his palms joined the guitar like a heartbeat.

For a while, they spoke that way — her through strings, him through rhythm — until the forge itself seemed to hum along.

When she stopped, he let his last tap fade into the silence, then signed, "That was beautiful. You play like you breathe".

She blushed.

He signed again, "Is that your true voice? I am told you can't talk?""

She nodded, fingers slow and sure as she signed back, "Just my heart speaking the truth".

Every day, they played together. Lenny had grown used to being percussion to her strings — her heartbeat finding its echo in his palms.

The locals at the Forge Yonder started to notice. They’d smile quietly when they passed by. Everyone knew what they were seeing: two sides of the same coin making music in their own language.

He’d sign something to her, a crooked grin on his face, and she’d giggle without a sound — her laughter rippling through the twang of her guitar.

Once, a fellow Trundler cracked a bad joke from across the shop. Lenny, without thinking, shot back a rude clapback in sign.

Eloise tapped his shoulder, eyes bright, and signed, "Language!! You are a gentleman".

He grinned and shrugged, mouthing the words back silently: "Yes, ma’am.""

Later that night, An bonfire lit in the early evening burned low and the laughter turned soft. One by one, folks drifted back to their bunks and hammocks, the glow of the forge dimming into embers.

Lenny offered to walk Eloise back to her dorm. The night air was cool and fresh.

As they walked, he signed, "That was a fun night".

She smiled and signed back, "You’re fun to be around".

The path was quiet, gravel crunching under their boots. Above them, the morning star was already shining—bright and proud against the dark. Lenny looked up at it, then at her.

He knew. He’d known since that first time they played together—when all he had was a bench to drum on and she made that lapsteel sing like a songbird. Somewhere in that rhythm, he’d stopped being a fighter. His hands, the same hands that used to break, were now learning how to feel.

When they reached her dorm, they stopped. Just stood there, looking at each other.

Two strings, side by side, humming the same tune.

She stepped closer. The night held its breath. He leaned in, just enough, and kissed her—gentle, reverent, like striking the first note of a sacred song.

When they parted, her eyes were shimmering. She raised her hands and signed, "I love you, Lenny".

He smiled, signed back, "I love you too".

And somewhere out in the Forge, the wind carried the faint echo of their song—two hearts still playing, long after the fire went out.

One morning, she saw him at what he called his "workout" — a thick beam wrapped in twine. This, was the way he kept his skills sharp and his calluses rough. As he boxed, Each strike landed with a dull, rhythmic thump — sharp, precise, like the beat of an angry drum.

She circled around him and signed, "Hello".

He paused, breathing hard, and nodded in return.

She’d brought him a cup of water. He took it, signed, Thank you.

She giggled — a soft, breathy laugh that almost made him forget to drink.

After drinking his fill, Lenny grinned, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned back to the post. His energy was back — that restless pulse she’d come to recognize.

Eloise unslung her guitar and began tuning, her fingers quick and sure. She watched him for a moment, then smiled and struck the opening notes of Shiro Sagisu’s "La Distancia Para un Duelo.""

The melody caught him mid-swing.

At first, his strikes came the same — sharp, deliberate. But then the rhythm took hold. His movements loosened, found a flow. Jabs, hooks, kicks — no longer bursts of fury, but the rolling surge of wind and thunder, the pounding of a thousand hooves.

He wasn’t fighting the air anymore. He was dancing with it.

Eloise kept playing, the song swirling through the forge, until she saw it — that burst of speed, the pivot and slide that made him vanish from an opponent’s sight, followed by the thump that would have translated to a blow to the back of an opponent's skull. The move that once made crowds roar, the move that earned him his name: The Ghost of the Pacific Northwest.

Her fingers slowed. The last note hung in the air, trembling. Tears welled in her eyes — not from sadness, but from recognition.

She signed softly, "So this is why they called you the Ghost…""

Lenny caught his breath, nodded, "Yeah that's how I got the name. I figured out how to stay in an opponent's blind spot before knocking them down."

She smiled — and for the first time, Lenny found that the title didn’t sound like a burden.

-----------------------------

It had been a month since Eloise had left her town. Her mother had been in tears and the women at the church had been supportive one minute and gossiping the next. "Must have been that Milly woman who put all these crazy thoughts. Leaving her family like a thief in the night!"

What they didn't know is that she left a note for her mother.

"Mom,

I know this is hard, but I cannot stay in this town of ours. I refuse to be married to a man who only likes me because I am "quiet". What kind of talk is that? All these years I had to work within people's idea of who I am.

And what am I? "Eloise-the-mute"? No. I am not just the quiet girl who plays music at church. I am the girl who learned to talk to the caravan folk, which by the way, are perfectly aware what everyone thinks of them.

And you know what? They were far more welcoming to me, teaching me to talk to them and the dullards than we ever were to them.

I feel at home with them, and feel like a stranger when I came in the church on Sunday. And if the church just wants me to be quiet and a baby-maker? Well they can forget it!

Regards,

Silent String.""

When the reverend learned of her leaving, he sat down with her mother, prayed and asked for her blessing for him and Phil to go and find her. She accepted on the condition of her accompanying them.

The reverend nodded "There has been talk over the mesh of a girl fitting the description of Eloise heading east to Texas." he said "She is heading to that large motorpool that has been growing up there in Marfa. Every trundler is using it as their half-point now. Why is she heading there, I have no idea. But that's where we will find her."

"How can she go out there? It's not safe!!"

"Francine, we know this far too well. That is why we are not going there alone. I've hired a few company men who have seen more than their fair share of trouble."

With tears in her eyes, He mother packed light and followed the men.

The reverend had commissioned transport from a neighbouring company town, using a rig that was made out of a cargo dullard, but switched to manual controls, a servitor acting as navigation and communications.

The hired men, Francine found out, were fighters. One of them looked like he would give a bull an inferiority complex, the other two, were more like nervous bundles of muscle and spite rolled into a ball.

"These three are professional fighters. They fight for their tabs and the company store." explained the reverend.

Francine felt a little uneasy with these men. Few in words, and yet their presence felt like even their shadow would crush you if you were not threading carefully.

Phil sat at the back with Francine. He read his manuals and listened to the radios on the mesh. Mostly Church Music and the odd sermon, the reverend talked about the latest demands from the Makerfast corp. considering quotas "More, always more."

While the men had their fellowship, Francine felt her loneliness even more. These men talked like it was another day on the job. For her, it's was wanting to find her daughter. Convince her that Phil would be husband material, to come back to the church.

To have her come home.

All the church gossip was gnawing at her. All she wanted is the way things were to be back.

Eloise had woken up early to get a look at the job board. She grabbed some food at the mess hall and found Lenny, greeting him with a peck on the cheek. their relationship had deepened that they were seen as one of the many couples of note. Saturday nights had their dances and Eloise's music became a regular thing, causing the nights to be filled memories and merry making.

She had made some friends in the dorm. Tessie and her sister Marjo. Tessie was a bubbly gal, giggling and cracking jokes, many times causing other women to have stomach cramps and tears. Marjo on the other hand, was more of a little minx, always getting the boys to notice her. She was annoyed that Lenny didn't, but Tessie reminded her "He's Eloise's man. Don't you even dare!!"

Life was great at the Forge Yonder, people came from all around to work and build. Lenny had become a discplined and skillful welder. He also still practiced his boxing, but now, it was always with her playing her music while he did "Doesn't feel right without you playing babe.""

Around 10am, She got called to the main office. With Lenny in tow, she went and met with foreman Smith.

"Apparently someone been looking for you. Some men from your hometown are on the impression they can march in here and bring you home like a generator on loan. It's been on the local chatrooms. They are coming here. Should be there by the evening. They got some company men, the kind that don't get any respect around here."

Smith looked at Lenny and pointed at his screen. "Ghost. Know these men?" Lenny looked at the screen and chuckled "Yep. They are fighters. Know all three of them."

Eloise signed to him "Friends?"

He signed back "I wouldn't call us friends when they are part of my ring record."

Smith sighed "I was afraid of that. Lenny, if these are trained fighters, then this isn't a social call. They are trying to muscle her back to them."

Lenny's unconsciously cracked the knuckles on his right hand. Eloise raised an eyebrow and signed 'No fighting.'

'Got it love' He signed back. Lenny chuckled. Old habits die hard.

That very evening, the Reverend's men had arrived at the Forge and requested permission to come in. It was granted and foreman Smith met with them. "Reverend! And you must be Francine!".

He gave a curt nod to the rest of the men. "Now the lady in question will join us momentarely. I will point out before we go any further that this isn't a company town, but a Trundler's stop. So whatever policies and privileges you think you got, well it's full stop here."

"Foreman Smith" the reverend begain "We respect your position and the fact that this isn't a company town. Still the matter remains that this mother wishes to see her daughter. We are not here to start any fights."

This is when Lenny made himself known "Especially when the men you hire have such low ring records."

The three men turned towards the source of the voice and one of them, a man called Johnson, coughed and spoke up.

"Lenny Finch? Are you kidding me?"

"Hey Johnson. How's the jaw? Heard you got your skull rattled back in St-Louis last year. You working as muscle now?""

The reverend asked "Johnson, you know this man?"

"Know him? That's the ghost of the pacific northwest!! One of the top fighters in the League."

Lenny chuckled 'Retired now. Court orders. They didn't take it kindly to what I did back in New York.""

A knock at the door came, Francine came in. She sat down. The reverend "This is the mother of the girl we are looking for. I hope this can be a reconciliation and a safe return. A mother needs to be with her children."

A minute later, Eloise came in, she was obviously nervous, but seeing Lenny reassured her. They all sat down. and Lenny held her hand.

Phil glared at Eloise. Lenny signed to her "They wanted you to marry this clown?"

Eloise signed back "behave!"

Smith turned to Francine, "It is my understanding that you don't understand roadsigning. It's ok, Eloise has aggreed to write down what she wants to say."

As if on queue, Eloise started to write down on a pad what she wanted to say. As she was handing it to her mother, the reverend tried to take it from her but she took it away and pointed to her mother.

"Her words belong to those she choses to hand them to" warned Lenny. The reverend sighed.

Francine read her words, "Mother, I am a grown woman now. A woman free to decide what she wants in life and while I get that some think I should be a good woman, marry and pop out a few kids, I feel it should be on my own terms and no one elses. I am happy here. I have friends, a job hauling cargo by guiding the dullards, my music and I have also found a man who loves me. His name is Lenny! Phil wants me because I am mute, Lenny talks to me in roadsign! I have a whole community that sees me as a person, not a prop or just a guitarist in a church!!""

Francine paused and looked at Lenny "You are her boyfriend?"

Johnson shook his head and chuckled. "That girl is ghost's girlfriend? Reverend, whatever you got in mind, you might want to forget it. Nevermind being in a trundler motorpool, that girl got herself a man who already at default a seasoned fighter. But a seasoned fighter in love? Forget it.""

Phil sputtered "This is ridiculous! What is she going to do here? Be a dullard jockey? Play her tunes? that's not a life. I can offer that, a house, a real job, and children. Here? With these people?"

Eloise had enough. She grabbed her pen and pad and scratched furiously in large letters and tore the page and tossed it at him.

Phil read the paper. "THESE PEOPLE ARE FAMILY TO ME PHIL!!"

Smith sighed "Well that settles it to me. Now I don't want to kick anybody out, but I will guiding you towards the exit. I am sure you can figure out the rest. I consider this meeting adjourned"

Eloise Signed to Smith "My mother should stay. Let her see for herself what life is like here for me."

Lenny translated to her mother "Eloise wants you to stay. You should see what she can do. She's awesome."

Francine smiled sheepishly "That would be nice."

The rest of the week passed and Francine got to see the daily occurences with her daughter. The days were long, with her guiding the dullards to their stall, hauling and rolling along. Then the evening training sessions with Lenny. She saw their affinity for each other. Every day a new verse to their song.

At the Saturday dance, Seeing her daughter play music that wasn’t meant for a curated service, she saw her true heart being sung on a steel strings, under he stars in the night sky smiled upon the lives collected in the Forge yonder.