Hickory, dickory, dock
The mouse ran up the clock
The clock struck twelve
And down he fell
Hickory, dickory...

Theophilus spends a lot of time staring at the clock on the wall. His hands drift aimlessly back and forth over the ivory keys as he hesitates. Will his hands cooperate today?

Being revived is an odd, but not entirely unpleasant situation. He gets plenty of time to himself without his father breathing down his neck. He has many years left to continue composing for himself. Things are quiet, and good, and his body is no longer in jeopardy of total collapse.

On the less bright side, because his reviver was his older sister Nannerl, he isn't allowed out of the house without a heavy disguise and someone to accompany him. He hates being alone, too, which leaves him quite anxious when Nannerl leaves to do errands. He locks himself in the piano room and hums or plays loudly, dexterity and stamina allowing, until she returns.

Constanze visits sometimes, but it feels weird now. She's trying to get his unpublished works out and also working to get his biography written. He doesn't like confronting his... well, erasure from the pages of history, removal from his past life that started the moment he died. What was he to do now? He tries to shove new compositions onto Constanze to pretend she has found, but that also cannot go on forever. What then?

Theophilus is lost.