It was finally complete. Years and years had been spent working on it, getting every melody and harmony just perfect. The composer had heard it a thousand times in their head, savoring each flourish and chord. But now, it was all written down. For the first time in as long as they could remember, their head was silent.
"It's time." They said, as they pulled their old violin from its case, long fingers lovingly stroking the cherry-tinted wood. Each string was plucked and tuned in turn, until the four together sounded just right. Then the bow, squeaking a little as the musician applied rosin. The composer smiled softly as they played a few notes, testing that everything was working flawlessly. The clear tones echoed around the room. "Well, my dear? Let's see what you can do with this."
And with that, they began to play. The piece began slowly, softly, like the whisper of the wind through a forest, or the trickle of a mountain spring. The notes flitted invisibly through the air, bouncing off the walls and blending with one another, refusing to fade. The sound crescendoed, building on itself greater and greater, as the musician closed their eyes. The sheets of paper slid off the stand, fluttering to the floor, but it didn't matter. The black notes and white spaces were nothing but redundant symbols. The composer knew the music by heart, and the song knew itself. Melodies and countermelodies tangled and unwound, playing off one another perfectly. The room, the lair, the whole dimension was lost, and only the beautiful sound, too much to be coming from a single violin. Nothing was real anymore except the music. Nothing else mattered.
Then, after an eternity, yet far too soon, it was over. The final chord resonated in the air, quietly fading away into silence. The hush was only broken by a quiet, chiming laugh. Overtone lowered their instrument in shock, glancing frantically to figure out what had made the sound. They were supposed to be completely alone. Visitors were not welcome. Their grey eyes landed on a tiny figure: a little girl, perhaps three years in age. Not a baby, but not much past one.
"How did you get in here? Where are your parents? Shoo. Get out." They said, brow furrowing.
The girl tilted her head to the side, amethyst eyes sparkling. "But, you're my baba. And I want to stay, please."
"I'm your… what? No no no. You cannot possibly stay here. I'm a very busy person. I certainly don't have time for lost little girls. You need to find your real parents."
"Baba, please. This is where the music is. I want to stay here."
Overtone paused from grabbing their jacket. "…you like music?"
"Of course! It's… it's…" She gestured helplessly, uncertain how to explain the sensation. "It's like, um… like being alive. Except, moreso."
They frowned at the child. It made sense, in an odd sort of way. But the ghost decided to instead be sour about the idea of being alive. "Whatever, child. Regardless of what you want, this is no place for a little kid. We're going to the station." Overtone finished pulling on their jacket, snatched the child's hand, and heading for the door, dragging her along.
—-
"I'm afraid we have no record of a missing child matching the little girl there. Can you describe again how you found her, Mister…?"
"Overtone. And it's not mister. Please don't call me that." The ghost said, their eyes narrowing a little.
"Oh. Uh… sorry, ma'-"
"And it's not ma'am either. Just Overtone, if you don't mind. Now, as to your question. I was performing a new composition for the first time, and after I finished, I heard her giggle. I never heard her come in, and haven't the faintest idea how she got there. She was just standing there, right behind me, claiming she was my… daughter, or something of the sort."
"B-but, Baba… I am yours. You wrote me." The girl chimed, gazing up at the older ghost. Then she turned to the officer. "Please, miss, can you explain? I came out of the song! I tried to explain, but baba isn't listening to me…"
The officer frowned at her, perplexed. The child did seem to consider … Overtone, to be her father. Parent. Whatever. "I… um. I'm afraid I don't understand. D'you mind if we, uh… run a test or something, kiddo?"
"Alright. But I told you everything I know. I wasn't there, and then baba played, and then I was. That's all." She explained, as she took the officer's hand in her tiny one, and followed the other into a room.
—-
"What did you find out about her?" Overtone asked nervously, as soon as the officer reappeared. The little girl was nowhere to be seen.
"Uh, well, as far as we can tell, her account is accurate. She's only been conscious for a matter of hours. This sort of thing happens from time to time: a strong stimulus will allow some of the free ectoplasm of the Zone to congeal. Usually, the resulting creature is no more developed than an ectopus, but the particular kind and strength of stimulus, according to our experts, can rarely make a more advanced form. No matter what we try to tell her, that girl is convinced that you are her, uh… 'baba'."
The ghost ran a hand through their hair, making it even less controlled than it was initially. "Alright, alright. Fine. So she thinks she's my child. And your experts think my music brought her to life?"
"Apparently. They can't find any of the normal traces of formation." The officer picked a piece of paper of the desk, clearing her throat. "Of course, she is far too young to be left alone. However, if you do not wish to take custody of her, there is a protocol we can follow. All you have to do is sign, and we'll take care of the rest." She offered the paper to the other, waiting.
Overtone nearly signed without looking over the text, but something made them hesitate. "If I don't take her in… what happens to her?"
"It depends. We'll offer her for adoption to anyone in the Zone for a time, but formations like her rarely get taken in. Plus, the Warden's Rules are pretty strict about higher sentient formations being let loose. Without someone to care for her and teach her about being a ghost, she's likely to cause all kind of trouble or anomalies, so she'll likely be deconstructed."
"You mean… you're going to melt her down?!" The composer was appalled. They didn't exactly want to care for a child, but the girl's melodious laugh, her sparkling amethyst eyes, even the way she insisted on calling them 'baba'… it was endearing. As accidental as her creation may have been, they couldn't let her be killed because of what she was.
"It's not precisely like that. It's a totally painless processes-"
"I don't care! I will care for her. If she really was born of my music, then she's as much my creation as the notes on my pages. I will not stand for her being harmed, anymore than I will stand for someone mutilating my compositions. Bring her back immediately!"
The officer looked mildly taken aback by Overtone's sudden reversal, but shrugged and called to someone in the back room. A ghost in a labcoat opened the door, and the tiny girl ran out, giggling happily. "I knew you'd let me stay with you! I just knew it!"
"Yes, yes. Calm down." Overtone said gruffly, trying to frown as the teal-skinned child latched onto their leg. But it was surprisingly difficult to stay annoyed with her; the girl would grow on them whether they liked it, or not, apparently. "If you're going to stay with me, though, I'll have to call you something other than 'child'. Do you have a name?"
"Uh huh. Note. My name's Note."
—-
It wasn't until many months after Note came into his life that Overtone tried to play their masterpiece once again. The girl had quickly shown a gift for all sorts of music, particularly singing and the flute. Granted, a gift only got her so far, and there were days where the composer ghost wanted to take her back to the station and melt her down, just to make the awful sounds of her practicing stop. But she improved rapidly, and even at her worst, wasn't entirely unpleasant to listen to. And they had to admit: having the lively presence of the girl in the lair did make for a nice change of pace.
As soon as the first note of the song hummed to life, though, Overtone could tell that it wouldn't be the same. They played it technically perfect, but the notes didn't leap to life. It was still a beautiful piece. In the human world, it would be acclaimed as one of the finest pieces of music ever written. Even here in the Ghost Zone, where such things were less appreciated, Overtone was certain no ghost would turn away while listening. But Overtone knew that someone had gone out of the melody that first time. The song was just a song, nothing more.
"What're you playing, Baba?" A little voice asked from the doorway.
"Nothing, dear. Just an old piece I wrote a long time ago."
"Well, I think it's very pretty. Maybe I can learn it someday, once I'm lots better."
They smiled at the girl. "Maybe so, Note. Maybe so."
She giggled, the sound bouncing against the walls like the chime of little bells. "Well, then, I guess I got a lotta practicing to do!" Still laughing, she turned and ran back towards her room, where her little flute lay quiet for the moment. And in the echo of her laughter and pattering footsteps, Overtone heard the faintest trace of that magical melody that had brought that little girl to life.