The sound of the plucked strings of the shamisen always reminded her of the ocean waves as the vibrato of sound moved through her. It was less the notes she played and more how they bounced off of one another as she fluidly moved her hand across the fretless lute. The sounds of hissing steam and random whistles across the city were a distant dream as she cleared her mind of the world around her and let muscle memory take control of the song.

— Nebulae Mist