Changeling

There are stories that sound like old fairy tales, only without a happy ending. It seems like there is a mysterious person nearby: with roses on their cheeks, with eternal strangeness in their eyes, with some kind of alien, inhuman freedom. And at first, all this draws you in, as if by magic. But then it turns out that magic can bite.

The music maintains this fragile balance: memory and longing, recognition and the attempt to let go. ‘We weren't who we thought we were’ sounds like a refrain that can be repeated over and over, but it doesn't make it any easier. And yet there is gentleness - not revenge, but calm observation of someone else's life passing by, without any attempt to interfere. The pain seems to remain, but now it sounds like a strange lullaby for two once-naive dreamers.