Neve's childhood was abscent of dulcet tones and parental warmth. His parents - Duke Siegfried and Anja - had noticed that Neve had a heavily stigmatised flaw in him, making him unable to be married off as a result of preserving their own reputation, so they thought to isolate him with only music, and Layla Monet, to keep him company. The were no praises for him back then, Neve thought of their coldness as warmth in a way - the expensive instruments they bought him, all the tutors who Neve grew to usurp and all the lavish clothes they threw upon his back. But there was abuse every now and then, Neve was a young boy, an unsocialised one at that, they are bound to make little mistake with his parents blew out of proportion.

Neve still holds his cursed viola, his fingertips are so callused as a result of his vigorous playing that he can competely lost sensation in his fingers. Neve isn't too fussed about this, at least he doesn't think he is - sometimes he gently brushes them up against the small, flickering flames of a candelabra to see if he could at least feel something when he does not need them to play. It isn't anything harmful, Neve says, he is just curious. Though sometimes he holds his face with his own hands, trying to imitate the warmth that comes with a lover imbued with romance, only to find his fingers are cold, icy husks, while his palms are soft, his fingertips are coarse like glass fragments.

Neve cannot think of his life in any other way. He is born a musician, and that is what he will die as. Neve's deadpan expression and flat affect only go to show that he has not changed in what seems to be forever - much like a birthright of his, it is bound to him forevermore.