"It's been ages. You might even think I died," he made a silly face and a snort, mocking the fact that he'd only been thirty-five when sickness and overwork had taken him. He'd hardly said any goodbyes as he'd been so focused on getting as much of the Requiem Mass complete. It had killed him.
"And I? How do I look? Still handsome?" Mozart had never looked at all as people expected. He was still short, hardly over 5'5" (though he swore it was at least 5'6"). His nose stuck out, with those beady little blue eyes perched on his pale face. He kind of missed the length those blonde and white wigs gave his face.