Soft, repeating piano chords, and over them one slow bowed line. That near-whisper is the level this begins from.

The piano has found its pace — the same chords on an even, unhurried step, a floor for everything above.

A first small swell: the bow presses a touch harder, the tone fills out, then breathes back.

The line climbs and stops on a high, thin note — more fragile up there, hanging while the chords keep turning underneath.

The bow leans in now; the tone thickens, taking on chest and darkness over the same quiet chords.

For a moment the line simply glides, sliding between its pitches while the chords beneath articulate a little more firmly.

Now they lean together — the chords swelling under a rising line, the fullest this has sounded so far.

A held note, and the vibrato opens wide on it — the tone nearly singing over the piano's steady step.

Up again, firmer in the bow — line and chords climbing together.

The crest: the bowed line at its fullest, most forward voice, over resonant chords.

It doesn't hold that height — the pressure lets go and everything eases back down a step.

The wave passes; the line drops back and thins toward its resting range.

The bow gathers again — same quiet climb, same patience.

The steadiness loosens: pauses open inside what was continuous, and the thread thins.

The last chord is left to ring out — piano decaying into the room, then only air.