Broken_Bird

Masterlist: https://www.deviantart.com/datagrim-database/art/AC-098-807464882

Traits:
Uncommon long ears (lopped)
Uncommon eyes (waves)
Uncommon speaker shape (rectangle)
Uncommon speaker amount (1 on each arm)
Uncommon tail (waves)

Weapon: Glaive

"The music that plays, the one no one can hear, me, right before the one to get her...shall we dance one day, milady?" - 8r0k3n_8!rd

The violin beat plays in harmonious union to his thoughts, the violin singing in his hands while his mind plays with the shadows that are cast over his memories. Those shadows, cute little birds already dancing in his mind, he lets the shadows play and my my, those wonderful children are indeed wonderful, no? As redundant as he is, he loves to be with them, loves to watch them play, loves to watch them dance, to sing, to create, the shadows are lovely and he wants them to be happy forever. Just let them dance, the shadows dancing, his memories dancing, the memories of long ago, a kind girl, one who he enjoyed playing with, already his heart sings at the thought. The first, he dances, he dances so wonderfully as he sings of his love. The second, he dances, he dances so wonderfully as he sings of his love. The third, he dances, he dances so wonderfully as he sings of his love. The fourth, she does not know, the fifth, she does not know, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth, but oh how lucky some of the others are! To see her own memories dance with them, he watches them play and he yearns and aches in his violin to be with them again. His playmates, his friends, he wants to be with them, he wants to play with them, his children, his children, his children...his friends are not his children. The shadows always were, he plays with their children while calling him his own. ...Haha, is he selfish for wanting that? To be with the shadows forevermore? To be in the shadows, rather than ice...he hates winter. He hates it ever since starving on the streets in the first. Again. Again. Again. His siblings. Dead. Again. Again. Again. His love. Dead. The blossoms. Again. Again. Again. He hanged with him. He regrets it. He killed him. He regrets it. He hurt them all. He regrets it. He regrets he regrets he regrets- A sorrowful tune and dull eyes snap open as he grins again. This grin, he doesn't know how it came to be, but he doesn't mind smiling. He'll sing again and again and again to make the world turn, he swears, he swears, he swears. He swears...