Disclaimer: The Vocaloids featured in this story obviously do not belong to me. They belong to their rightful owners which includes Zero-G.

Note: Well, here we are...the last chapter! I feel like I might have made the ending a little cheap, but I'm not entirely sure.
Anyway, I may go ahead and post the other Engloid fan-fiction I've done since this site seriously lacks them (and that makes me a bit sad).

As for the song which is mentioned..."Una furtiva lagrima" was a song used for Tonio's demo. Not sure what you guys may have thought about it, but I thought it was pretty nice! Ah, anyway, here is the final chapter. Thank you for reading!

'My dream seemed so happy about everything,' Prima admitted within her thoughts, 'but it never gave me any closure about how and why Primrose died…'

Prima continued seeing flashbacks of her dream come to life, but there was also a mixture of things she didn't remember. Prima's dreams showed her the life of Primrose Bianchi, the student who then turned into a local opera singer and teacher on the side to fifteen teenagers. She remembered how she adored one of her younger students, Antonello Bellomi, who was without a doubt the man beside her in the lobby.

Speaking of Tonio, he went over to the wall of photographs while Prima excused herself to use the toilet. His brown eyes fixated onto Primrose's class photo.

"You look so bashful! Do you hate getting pictures taken of you?"

A frown came across his face when he heard Prima's voice in his head…

…or was that Primrose saying that?

"Sort of."

"Merda…" he grumbled to himself at his voice replying to Prima or Primrose.

Tonio looked to Antonello. Very slowly, he lifted a hand to his own hair then down to his shoulder where Antonello's hair would reach. It slipped behind his neck and his eyes soon glanced away from the photo of the boy in front of him.

Antonello Bellomi, one of the only tenors in his class. Personality-wise, his confidence was there, though it was less than the average person's for whatever reason. His parents believed he was a perfectionist, a personality trait that was a mixed bag. Antonello — or as his mama would call him "Anton" — had a liking for opera with the thanks of his parents being avid listeners of the genre and the fact in which he felt at peace with it.

When he was enrolled into this program and was introduced to Primrose, Antonello seemed to enjoy being out of his house more — he would then become accustomed to being around Primrose as a friend instead of mere teacher or someone worth looking up to. She lifted his spirits, wiped away any worries he might have had about pursuing a life in the world of opera. She gave him pointers whenever he needed them, and he made sure he followed those suggestions.

Though, there were times even when Primrose's words or motives made Antonello feel better.

You see, Antonello had this odd way of thinking:

"If it's not a hundred percent, then it's a failure along with you".

Those words eventually started eating him inside the further into the school year and he couldn't understand why. Was it because he paid so much attention to how wonderful and flawless Primrose was whenever she sung that he tried to get to the same level she was on? This was Antonello's perfectionist side showing.

"I need a drink," Tonio said to himself, crossing his arms. He wished this place had a concession stand or some sort of place where they sold anything alcoholic, but it didn't seem like there was one available.

And that attitude remained with him, even as a Vocaloid known as "Tonio".

"Anton!" his mother's youthful voice was the first thing Antonello heard. "It's time to get up for class!"

It was now the beginning of March, seven months since he was taken under Primrose's wing within the opera world. For the most part, Antonello was still glad to be attending this class, but recently he has been feeling ill about it. He didn't feel like he could be as good as his parents and Primrose thought he could become. This could be a phase he was going through due to a spring performance which his class had to do in a week, or because this was how he got once in a while.

"Don't worry," his father assured him one day with a warm smile, "you'll do great. You were blessed with a voice that a lot of people in the opera business wished they had."

"We believe in you," his mother added.

Antonello pulled his hair back as he used a grey ribbon to tie it loosely once he went inside the Teatro Tammaro for another day of Primrose's class; but, he paused halfway in the lobby. His eyes drifted to the right, over to the hall which led to the kitchen. On most days, no one went in there until the evening performances or meetings that the owners have.

A thought came to Antonello; an unwise one but one which could possibly help him.

Over the months, Antonello not only shared a drink with Primrose after class whilst waiting for his ride but he also drank at home whenever his parents were out. It was something which calmed him down after feeling stressed, tired, or something else. He looked up on how to make a martini, so he was successful upon making one with accuracy every time.

He has been doing this once January rolled in, having a glass of the bitter drink almost every day without getting caught at home.

As he shook the ingredients together in the shaker, Antonello's ears perked from Primrose's beautiful voice resounding throughout the opera house. Of course, a song from "Carmen"…

Antonello poured the drink into a plastic cup and then downed it, feeling a warm sense of pleasure in his stomach once it made its way there. Antonello exited the kitchen, then headed to the performance hall's entrance. The young man licked his lips for one last taste of the drink and entered.

This would soon become a routine before he entered the hall to watch Primrose warm-up from then on, even increasing the amount from one to two and then three if he was bold enough not to appear as though he was drunk or a bit flushed in the face.

"Una furtiva lagrima."
"Excuse me?"

"That's the name of the song I've thought you should perform for the concert this month," Primrose explained to him, beaming a smile at his direction. "It's one of the perfect songs for a tenor — such as yourself — to do! What do you think?"

It was the last hour of class for the week when Primrose began talking one-on-one with her students, giving them ideas for what to sing on the day of their "concert". She had chosen Antonello last since she knew she would talk to him a while longer than the other students who approached their choices with open arms. She had noticed Antonello becoming reluctant recently, so she decided she could give him words of encouragement from one opera singer to another.

"I've never heard of that song before," he replied instantly.

"You haven't? Well, I can show you a clip of it later after class."

Primrose saw Antonello's eyes glance from her and over at the wall to his left. She frowned worriedly. "Antonello," she asked, "are you getting worried about something?"

"No." He looked back at the teacher. "Not really, no, but…" Antonello let his voice trail off, feeling unable to tell her what was going through his mind. It wasn't as though he didn't like Primrose's suggestion, nor did he not want to perform — in fact, he felt anxious but excited — but rather…rather it was those naggy thoughts about being unable to do it at all.

Primrose sighed through her nose. Carefully, the woman cupped a hand to Antonello's cheek who seemed unfazed by the touch. "Don't worry, you'll be so splendid singing!" She paused. She was suddenly struck by an idea. "You know," she whispered to him as she grinned, "if you're nervous, the two of us could do a duet~…"

"I don't like the way you said 'duet'," Antonello told her with a heavy blush coming to his face.

"Oh you…"
"Anyway, I think I'll do that song you were talking about."

"You will?" Primrose brightened up upon what Antonello said.

He hesitated for a moment, but then he finally answered, "Yeah."

"Great! Thank you, Antonello. I promise to help you out as much as I can. You're a student and dear friend of mine, after all!"

Although feeling doubtful, Antonello smiled at her.

Antonello studied the notes Primrose gave to him of his song as he relaxed on his bed with a martini in hand. In the background, "Una Furtiva Lagrima" played on his desktop computer's speakers as inspiration. The gentleman's voice was a Godsend indeed, one which warmed his body with an unexplained sensation. He felt this way whenever he heard Primrose sing, but he didn't think he could ever rouse another person with his own voice.

A voice like that was what probably lured his parents into opera, thus doing the same to him.

He downed his glass. He planned on having, at least, five more or until he felt better.

Prima exited the ladies restroom, feeling refreshed as she stretched with her eyes closing for a second. "I'm sorry it took me such a while, Tonio. I bumped into this former student of Primrose and she had some rather interesting—" and when she opened her eyes, the lobby was empty. "Tonio?"

She frowned. Where on earth did he run off to? The restroom? Her eyes drifted to the wall of photographs, feeling oddly wary for some reason.

"What's wrong?"

Prima turned around and saw a lady in her late twenties with tanned skin and a French braid staring at her with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, it's you again, Miss…Emily?" she tried recalling her name.

Miss Emily was apparently a teacher and former student of the late Primrose Bianchi. This was the woman she ran into whilst she used the toilet. Emily had told her about the unfortunate death of Primrose days after her class was to have their very first concert in the middle of March.

The woman nodded. "You've got it right. Were you looking for someone?"

"Yes, my dear friend Tonio. He was out here a moment ago, but it seems he wandered off…"

Suddenly, the sound of shuffling could be hearing just above their heads.

"He must be visiting Box 5," Emily spoke up, then she added in for further explanation, "the box viewings stretch back along with the entrances, so if it's quiet enough, people can hear the attendees in the boxes."

"Oh, and…how do you know it's Box 5?"

"I know the locations of everything inside and out," was the only reason Emily gave.

"I see…" she murmured. "I'd better go see."

"You know how to get to Box 5?"
"Well, yes, I do. You can say that I know this place well, too."

There were two ways how to get to the box seating. One way was to enter the performance hall, go to the back of the room and go up the flight of stairs. The second way to enter involved going up the stairs in the lobby and enter the door to the right then go through one of the numbered doors.

Prima, of course, knew these because of her dream showing it to her.

Or rather because of who she was at one time.

She decided to take the stairs in the lobby, and as she began making her way to the stairs again, Emily called out, "Be careful in the box, Miss Prima. It's dangerous up there."

Jokingly with a small smile, the English Vocaloid asked, "Really…? Is Teatro Tammaro cursed with a phantom in one of the boxes that I should know about, Miss Emily?"

She smiled weakly. "I wish. It's only because getting too close to the edge has been proven to be ill-advised; in fact, that's why the bars on the railing have been removed. People used to press too much weight on them, also the bar railings were slippery…"

Something struck a nerve in Prima's head, hitting directly where her memories were stored — including the one she recently recovered — and replayed if needed.

"Actually…" Prima said, "I think I'm going to check the hall to see if I find him there first. Could you answer me something though?"

"Sure." Emily nodded. "Please, go right ahead."

"You said you were a student of Primrose Bianchi, yes?"
"Yes, I was."

"Do you happen to remember a classmate named Bellomi? Antonello Bellomi?"

For the tenth time that day, Antonello listened to the operatic song on his mp3 player as he gulped the rest of his martini to loosen his nerves. He wasn't well, but within an hour and a half, the class was going to start their concert in front of their friends, family, and even a few other people who were in the music arts. Primrose even boasted there were a handful arriving from Spain, England, and the States for whatever reason.

This was a horrible idea.

He wasn't feeling confident about tonight. He had been practicing at home with the song and had the urge to show Primrose how he was, but he wasn't sure what she would think. He wasn't sure about himself anymore.

Antonello made himself one more drink, thankful that no one came into the kitchen to see what he was making. He kept his wobbly hands steady as much as he possibly could while he watched himself mix and shake the usual items.

He didn't want to tell Primrose or his parents, but other family members had been talking about him behind his back and questioning his place in opera. The complaints ranged from Antonello being too pretty or too young to his voice not being pleasing.

"Why sing a dead genre?" he heard one ask.

"Why music? He's wasting his time when he could be attending a university with an actual benefit."

"Well, he's been average at school. He probably wouldn't be able to last in a university."

Antonello left the kitchen with his final drink for the night. He needed to be alone until it was time to sing, and he knew a good spot. When he walked, he struggled to keep a straight line and his eyes ahead. A few of his classmates were hanging out in the lobby at the time while two or three of them noticed the unstable movement of Antonello; others noticed his eyes were surrounded by red.

The theatre boxes, the best way to get away from everything until people began to arrive for this evening. Antonello chose one of the boxes in the middle, giving the teen a perfect view of the stage and the first eight rows of seats. There was yet to be any attendees in the seats so far, but that would soon change by half an hour. For now, the only noise to be heard was through the ear buds which Antonello wore.

He took a seat and started the song on his mp3 player one more time.

His eyes went half-lid as he sipped his martini, his eyes fixating to the stage again.

Antonello didn't know what to do.

He liked opera, he adored Primrose as a teacher and friend, he enjoyed all of this, but he didn't think he'll be able to grab that sense of perfection like Primrose or any other opera singer who convinced the naysayers of opera that the music was beautiful. And…merda, the stuff his family members said were coming back to him…

Perfect, absolutely perfect.

As soon as he finished his drink, Antonello tossed the paper cup to the ground then he ripped the tiny ear buds from his ears and shut off the music on his portable player. He cupped his gloved hands over his eyes, letting out a loud sigh. He was going to be absolutely sick.

That was when the doors underneath his box, the main doors of the performance hall, creaked open.

"Antonello?" a familiar voice echoed out. "Are you in here?"

The dark-haired teen remained quiet.

"Miss Bellamy told me you looked sick. Are you feeling alright?"

Silence.

"Dear, I know you're in here. Bellamy said she and the others saw you."

"What is it, Miss Primrose?" he finally answered.

"Are you okay?" Primrose asked again. She took a few steps forward until she was able to peer up at the box seat Antonello was in.

"…can I be honest?"
"Please…"

He licked his lips, savouring the bitter remains of the six martinis he had since arriving to the school for the performance. "I don't think I can perform tonight. I'll ruin everyone's expectations."

"Expectations?" She blinked. "Antonello, you're the best student I have. I know you'll do every one of us proud!"

Maybe she's only saying that because she's his teacher. There was no way she could be truthful—wait, no. Where was this coming from? Was it because he was drunk? That was when these thoughts would resurface even more.

Antonello rose from his seat, then he placed his hands over the gold rail bars and looked down at Primrose. His eyes, they tried to focus on the lovely woman in the white gown and her black hair put into a bun, but he kept seeing double of her.

Primrose frowned. Something didn't look right about her student. Red eyes, messy hair, crimson cheeks…and his words sounded a little slurred. It dawned on her. "An…Antonello," she hesitantly asked, "are you drunk?"

"Do you think it would've been better if I had taken drugs for me to calm down?"

"No, no I wouldn't," Primrose immediately said, though in a stern tone. "But why…why did you drink so much?"

"I already said it was because I needed to calm myself down."
"…is there something you want to talk about?"

Ignoring his heart beating against his chest, Antonello confessed his thoughts, "I don't think I'll be able to sing as well like you and my parents are hoping for. I keep hearing from my other family members that I'm wasting my life being in a school for taking up opera instead of being in a university like they were," he added, "but then they complain that I wouldn't 'make it' through a university since my grades are average and there's possibly no other use for me."

What a rude family! Primrose had talked to his parents before, and she remembered hearing from the father that they had separated from the rest of the family due to them having "holier than thou" attitudes. Antonello must have had the misfortune of meeting them from time to time somehow…

But Antonello wasn't done speaking.

Leaning forward, he continued, "And my voice, they've complained that I sound horrible and…maybe they're right. The compliments I've gotten from my parents could've been fake; they're my parents but feel they need to support their only kid, after all." He lifted a hand to his chest. "It can't touch others like your voice or any other opera singer."

"But it has touched someone," Primrose swiftly assured him, "besides me, I've found out the owners of the house heard you whenever our class would practice down here instead of the studio room. They thought you were beautiful, Antonello! And your parents, they've thought the same thing and meant it!"

She tried her damnedest to convince him, telling Antonello, "I've spoken to both of your parents many times during the weekend because they're curious about how you've been doing. You should've heard the excitement in their voices, dear, they're so proud of you! I'm proud of you, too! Please don't be discouraged…!"

Primrose weakly smiled to him, although she wasn't sure he could see straight enough to see it.

"You said you like opera, right?"
"…I do."
"And, do you like me as well?"

Antonello nodded with his eyes almost closed.

"This might sound like a weird thing to say, but…you could think of me while you're performing tonight. You'll make me so proud…"

"And…I—I know you've never had much confidence, but I hope I've changed your mind. If opera is something you like or love, then maybe…you could give this a chance. I promise that I'll be here for you."

He gulped to push down something vile that want to spill out from his stomach. Antonello gently smiled back, replying, "Alright. I'll do it."

Primrose scrunched her eyes at how Antonello was standing. He was hunched over and he looked sicker by the moment. This wasn't good. "I'm glad, so glad! How about I help you get cleaned up and then give you some black coffee to get you sober?" she offered.

Suddenly, something from above flew down and crashed three feet away from Primrose who immediately froze on sight.

Primrose let out a puff of breath as her soft eyes began to widen upon realisation, and soon her breathing grew louder by the second.

The scream Primrose released was the most horrifying sound that every living occupant in Teatro Tammaro on March 20 of 2001 would hear, but Primrose had every reason to scream in such a manner.

Antonello's body remain motionless as Primrose screamed at the sight before her. She had fallen to her knees and her hands had the urge to go to her face but remained a little outwards and the fingers half-bent as though she was closing her fists. She couldn't believe it, she just couldn't believe what had happened.

The students rushed into the performance hall, along with a few workers of the theatre. Some were frightened by the sight of the dead body, one fainted, and others made mad dashes to call an ambulance to try and see if there was a chance that Antonello could be revived somehow.

Primrose's voice died out eventually and her eyes blinked rapidly at the tears forming in them. She moved herself closer to the body, reaching out a hand to touch it. She would find out that Antonello's body grew cold and there was no pulse to be found.

Antonello Bellomi had died.

It was obvious that he had, but not for the reason that everyone thought at first. The real cause of his death made the hearts of Antonello's parents — and Primrose's — drop significantly. Antonello had died from alcohol poisoning before his lifeless body keeled over the railing and it the floor below. Antonello must have had plenty to drink, more than a "mere" seven glasses.

One day and a funeral later, Primrose arrived early to the opera house once again.

Primrose placed down the small CD player on the stage and pressed "play", filling the hall with a famous cover of "Una furtiva lagrima". She adjusted the jacket she refused to take off before stepping off stage and taking a seat in the front row of the audience.

She smiled sadly as tears began to drip from her green eyes. "I never got to hear you sing this," was all she said, and then she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand while she choked on a sob.

Things changed after Antonello's death: One, alcoholic drinks of any kind were banned for the next five years; Two, the smooth railings on the box seating were removed and replaced with a better secure; Three, Antonello's death may have been the reason why Primrose Bianchi died a week later at her home in the late night hour. Her teaching position was taken by a substitute thereon.

How Primrose Bianchi pass on was unknown even after thirteen years. Teatro Tammaro would forever acknowledge Bianchi as the kindest person the house was blessed to have and the most wonderful singer they had the business of having.

Prima slowly approached the door which led into Box 5. She and Emily had parted ways after they went downstage while searching for Tonio and once Emily told her about Antonello's death, along with her's— or rather— Primrose's. She had a gut feeling Tonio was in there now.

She turned the knob and opened it.

"Tonio?"

There he was. He was sitting in one of the seats with his back towards Prima, unmoved even when she called his name. Could he have known what happened here?

No, probably not. Tonio didn't say anything that he remembered of this place yet, though. What would happen if he remembered this of all places? Well, there was one way to find out.

She heard her feet touch the carpet as she came into view on Tonio's right side. "Tonio?" she repeated, placing a hand on his shoulder. That was when she noticed he had a hand over his eyes with the arm propped on the chair's arm. A frown was visible on his feature. "Dear…?"

In a tone where his voice below a hushed tone, Tonio simply asked without moving his hand from his eyes, "Can we leave now?"

He remembered.

"I'm guessing you would like to head home tomorrow, right?" Prima asked as she and Tonio had dinner together in their hotel room, sitting beside each other on the bed rather than using the tiny table.

"It doesn't matter to me at the moment," he replied, then took a sip of his water. He didn't feel like touching alcohol for a day or two after what he now remembered about himself.

"Then…perhaps we could stay here for another day?"
"Three days. I'm not ready to go home at all."

Prima frowned. Tonio hasn't looked at her ever since she found him in Box 5 at Tammaro, but she couldn't blame him. If she had known they had both died, she probably would have never dragged the younger singer out here to begin with.

"I'm sorry…"

Tonio finally turned to Prima. "What for?"

"For…you finding out about who you were prior to being a Vocaloid," she explained. "I should've kept it to myself if I had known you were going through some things which are similar to what you deal with now…"

"It's alright," he assured her. "You wished to know about who you were at one point and I waved it off as you taking a dream far too seriously. If anything, I should apologise for my skepticism."

"You had a right to question my thoughts at the time. I'm sure a lot of people would've done the same."

"Perhaps."
"I wonder though…"
"What?"

Prima questioned out loud, "Did Zero-G or any of Vocaloid company find us through the theatre somehow? And how on earth did they do it if we had died? Could it be that we're recreated from them, or were they able to pull a movie stunt and save our brain and heart?"

"Prima…" he narrowed his eyes at the soprano, saying, "I'm okay with you thinking about Primrose and Antonello, but it's probably best that we don't wonder too much about the aftermath."

A smile crossed her face. "I guess you're right, dear." She paused. "But, you know, you really haven't looked well since I found you in the box seating…I'm worried that this affected you deeply. Did it?"

His eyes softened — well, that was what Prima swore she saw upon hearing the question — and darted from her to the television as a commercial played. Truth be told, Tonio didn't know how he felt about Antonello nor his behaviour which carried on from the last months of Antonello's life to present day as a Vocaloid. The thing he did most nowadays — drinking martinis — was the reason why he died in the end, also.

He didn't remember who he was and what happened until he took a second glance at the picture of Antonello while Prima was in the restroom. At first, he felt light-headed so he chose to wander off wherever his feet took him…which happened to be Box 5; the place where he — as Antonello Bellomi — died of alcohol poisoning. His final moment played in his head, he felt the sickening emotions running through him — all of those things joined together as soon as he entered the box.

The scene played in his mind, from his final words to Primrose until he slipped into a state of unconsciousness where he then passed on. This wasn't a joke, nor a dream which Prima took hilariously seriously.

He and Prima had a life together before being Vocaloids, plain and simple even though the impact left upon the younger opera singer was there in his thoughts. He had a few questions of his own, but after telling Prima she shouldn't wonder about further details…he had to do the same.

"No," was all Tonio said plainly as a reply, then he sipped his water again.

Prima frowned. Her eyes watched Tonio resume eating his cacciatore.

Although he claimed to have been alright, she could tell he didn't enjoy discovering the truth. Perhaps it revived negative feelings of either himself or as Antonello. Another reason could be that this was "too much" for Tonio to handle.

The movie on the television returned whilst she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to herself.

"Don't worry," she said, "we don't need to tell anyone else about it if that's how you want to deal with it, dear."

Ignoring the blush of being touched, Tonio stared away from Prima and his food. He didn't want to admit he felt a little better since he had somebody with him, considering he would feel even worse if he had been alone.

The days passed without either Vocaloids bringing up Primrose Bianchi and Antonello Bellomi, but Prima wrote down about the experience within a pink metallic coloured diary she bought before she and Tonio departed from Italy. Prima felt oddly refreshed for some reason, possibly a sense of relief upon getting to know Primrose and the fact that her dream was more than that.

In a way, Primrose and Antonello never really faded after they had died but were instead given a second chance of life as Vocaloids. How that was possible was another story.

End (?)