Songs are more than what they appear to be. They tell stories, even without words. The notes and rhythms create structure, articulation and musicality add detail, and the balance and blend can make or break a piece. That's what writing music is. Creating stories. Some songs are love stories, others are sad stories, but each piece has a story to go with it.

We're going to erase all the mistakes and create one perfect story. That's what the count told us.

I don't know what was worse. The fact that he was lying to all of our faces or the fact that no one else seemed to notice. Don't they know you can't erase things without leaving smudges? It's difficult to write over those smudges without making the pages look messy.

The Count clearly knew that. The thing was, he didn't care how many smudges he made. He had no intention of writing perfection over the eraser marks. He just wanted to erase and erase and erase until the entire story was gone.

That's the thing about the count. He wasn't an artist. He didn't know anything about creating stories. He just used other artists to bring his ideas to life. Artists like me.

If I were in charge, I would work over the eraser marks. I am well aware that true perfection can not be achieved, even with all the power in all the worlds. Still, I would never leave behind an empty page with nothing more than smudges. I would try to create a beautiful story so that when someone takes a look, their eyes don't even notice the eraser marks.

But I wasn't in charge. Yet.

I was writing when he came in to speak to me. 3/4 time signature. Eighth note rest, six sixteenth notes running up to a staccato eighth note, then two sixteenth notes leading up to another staccato eighth note in the following measure. D, Eb, D, Eb, F, G, A, Bb, C, D. Rest for three and a half beats, hold for another eighth rest, then repeat the same phrase in the following measure-

There was a knocking on my door. 

The knocks were uneven. It bugged me.

A second later, the man in green opened my door. I hadn't given him permission to parade on in as if he owned the place, yet he did it anyway.

I let out a sigh, annoyed.

So first, the count lies to our faces about his plans. Then he brainwashes yet another innocent soul into helping us. What, were we not enough? Three times last week, the new guy showed up at my door, claiming he wanted to understand me or... whatever. Great, as if I wasn't busy enough, now I had this idiot to deal with. He's in and out all day. Thanks, Bleck. Just what I needed. More distractions. No more songwriting time for me, I suppose.

"What do you need?" I asked.

"Oh, drop the salty attitude, I'm about to leave," he breathed, looking around my room. "I was just looking for a wrench. I think Mimi stole mine."

"Ah, accusing one of my dearest companions of thievery, are you?" I asked, raising a masked eyebrow.

"Hey, I'm just saying," he replied with a slight chuckle. "I saw her holding a wrench earlier, and now mine is conveniently gone. If you don't think that's suspicious, I don't know what to tell you."

"I thought you were leaving," I huffed. "As in leaving the CASTLE to go off and stop the heroes."

"I am, I am," he replied. "I just was hoping to find a wrench. That way, I could make quick alterations to Brobot should I need to while I'm fighting the heroes once again."

Ha, as if alterations could save him. He may have acted confident, but I could see past that smirk of his. He knew better than anyone else that there was no stopping his brother. He knew very well that he was fighting a losing battle. We all were.

"Well, I have none," I shrugged. "Ciao."

That was SUPPOSED to be his cue to leave, but apparently, Mr. L was the type of person I could only classify as an idiot and didn't get the memo.

"Meh, I figured," he shrugged. "Hey, so... I know this is going to sound weird, but I was thinking... maybe after I finish fighting the heroes-"

I noted how he said finish fighting the heroes instead of defeat the heroes.

"-Maybe we could... I dunno... maybe-"

"I said ciao," I interrupted.

His smirk faltered slightly, but just for a second. It was hardly noticeable. But I noticed it, of course.

"Alright. Maybe later then," he shrugged.

Later was never going to come.

...You all know very well how the story went after that. Everything was going according to plan. Everything was perfectly orchestrated.

Then, I bailed.

Don't ask me why. I truly don't know.

I'm sure many of you are wondering where I went.

Does it matter?

The world was ending. Who cares where I was when it all ended? It doesn't matter.

Nothing I did ever mattered.

Nothing ANYONE did ever mattered.

Mario had saved countless people on his countless adventures, but at the end of the day, the world still ended. Those lives were still lost. All his efforts were for nothing.

All that I could really remember doing before everything went dark was humming a song that would never be played. A piece that would never see the light of day.

It was brilliantly designed if I do say so myself. A mixture of the man in green's theme, my own theme, and the darker theme of the Chaos Heart. It was a chaotic yet organized mix of the three songs that somehow blended to create a superior sound.

Now, no one would ever hear it.