The Starsong believed there was a mystery in music.
 
Journey to a hundred hundred planets. Meet a hundred hundred worlds, of all shapes and sizes. Grown with forgotten intent or thrown together by nameless fate. The mountaintop with room only for one or a sea of life flowing beneath the ground. One house. An entire city. 

It doesn’t matter. There will be music there. There will be room, in the audience or the players. There will be a song from the stars - even if it is only one - that finds a new home. But this is only part of the mystery.

In the court of the Dead God, there is music. Music to draw a sheep out of himself, his hurt, and higher still.

Atop the creaking floorboards, there is room. Room for even the Mistress of the Hunt to play. A chef from Beri is a rounding error. 

Between the notes from Olympus, there weaves a song from the stars. Plucked from a dream, dancing after a goddess, softly ringing from bells in curls. 

Together, they build it a new home.

[Rolling to Speak Softly with Artemis: 6 + 3 + 3 = 12. What song is in your heart?]