At first there was nothing but the sound of the piano - for some reason it echoed, even though the landscape stretched as far as the mortal eye could see - and his own dark voice entwined with it. The other voice could have been nothing but a product of his own mind, he knew that; but some instinctive feeling told him that it was real. It had come not from himself but from someone else, and it was that someone whom he needed. There was no such thing as a bodiless voice, after all.
Bran almost didn't hear it over the sound of Mozart, rising and falling in volume as though the music had a life of its own. He didn't stop playing - he wasn't sure if he could - but he cocked his head to the side, listening.
He knew it was the voice almost immediately, not just because of its clarity but because of the emotion within it, something that was audible even from a distance. Feelings were an almost foreign concept to him, aside from the ones that burned like acid. But the voice's song was almost like a lament, and deep within himself Bran felt something stirring; a hollow ache that confused him and yet left him longing for more. How could it hurt and feel good at the same time?
Then it stopped, and he realized he'd had his eyes closed. His fingers continued to move of their own accord, even as he sensed the owner of the voice approaching him from behind. Her humming mingled with his in a way that pleased him, but he stopped when she did. Bran didn't know if she was simply part of his dream or if she was really there, but he did know that he knew her - somehow.
"You came." His voice was rich and smooth like velvet, a stark contrast to the face hidden beneath the mask; and his head turned ever so slightly as to catch a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. "Are you afraid?" The bodies didn't bother him, but the distance she kept between herself and him indicated that they might bother her.