Nikodemus dreamed well after knocking himself out. June had taken him indoors and tucked him into his own bed after making sure his temperature was normal. He dreamed of the same thing he always dreamed of; family. This time, however, it was not about his parents, it was about his daughter, Frey.

He still remembered her so clearly; he remembered her sunny smile, her clear, unscuffed, pale skin, and her intelligence. He couldn’t remember who her mother was, but he thought she must have been very smart if she helped him produce such an intelligent daughter.

One thing about most of his daughters that was different from regular tribeswomen and held them back in such a harsh, cruel world, was that they were very short and lithe due to his own short height and his stick-thin waist. Despite the fact that most of them seemed relatively smart, it was not intelligence that was valued amongst the tribeswomen, it was muscle.

Regardless, the crystalline beauty of Frey’s piano pieces floated through his dreams, enchanting him and wrapping him in a melody that made his spirit soar. In his dream, he saw his daughter sitting by the piano, her hands dancing along the keys with grace that was normally unseen in the Wasteland. Her yellow curls hung down to her waist, looking like shimmering, golden clouds, and she wore a pink dress that simply… did not exist in the Wasteland--it was something conjured by his sleeping mind. It was a dress that matched her beauty and complimented greatly.

He watched himself approach her from a disembodied position, and when he came to her side, there appeared a tribeswoman who was scolding his daughter, halting the music bubbling from the keys and popping into the lovely, bright notes that filled his depraved soul.

“What are you doing, stupid girl? Don’t you know your music serves no purpose? You should be practicing your aim, not wasting your time practicing the piano!” the woman slapped his daughter across the face, eliciting tears from her. Frey whispered, “I’m sorry. I thought it might cheer the women up…”

The woman slammed her palms down on the piano, causing it to sing angry notes. “You know what would make these women happy? Survival! Every moment you waste your time practicing this worthless instrument instead of practicing your aim, is a moment that will cost one of your tribeswomen their lives! Practicing the piano serves no one but you! What point is there to such tripe!”

Frey was in tears. She opened her mouth, but found that she had no words to counter what the woman said.

Sudden recognition filled his eyes when he looked upon the woman who scolded his daughter; it was her mother—a woman by the name of Selena. Suddenly, Nikodemus remembered what kind of woman she was. She was a hard woman with little pity—a woman who didn’t know how to be a mother—and treated their daughter like she was little more than a tool to be used.

When she saw she had caused her daughter to cry, Selena didn’t know how to deal with it. Her expression momentarily softened, but then, she spun on her heel and left her daughter with one last set of cruel words, “Think upon your actions next time, you fool.”

Once she was gone and Nikodemus was sure no more women would intrude upon them, Nikodemus took a seat next to his daughter on the piano chair. She had put her head down on the piano, and was weeping upon it bitterly.

Nikodemus let her cry for a moment. He knew he couldn’t help her in her current state, so he let her just experience her emotions and embrace them. When she had calmed down, she rose her head and jumped at seeing her father sitting next to her. “You surprised me, Daddy!”

Nikodemus smiled at her. “I snuck up on you like a spider. I can’t blame you. Now… tell me what’s wrong.” Frey averted her gaze, her shoulders slumped. “It’s mom…”

“What about her?” Nikodemus probed, even though he had witnessed what had happened.

Frey’s eyes went glassy again. She sniffled. “She hates me…”

“I think that’s a little uncharitable towards yourself and her. I don’t think she hates you. I think…” Nikodemus tried to put it into words. “I think she doesn’t know how to interact with you. Children in the Wasteland are incredibly rare, after all. Especially children like—”

“Like me…” she said sadly. “A girl who has no talents other than playing the piano. Who couldn’t possibly ever be of use in a fight, and abhors fighting to begin with… I just want her to look at me like a mother should look at her daughter. With pride and adoration.”

Nikodemus just listened for a moment, letting his daughter feel and acknowledge her emotions. He gathered his thoughts during that time, and then he told her, “She may not be able to see the use in playing the piano, but maybe you just have to show her it has uses. I know it can feel like playing the piano is an exercise in futility when there’s no one to hear you play, and there’s almost no one left to appreciate how good you are, but believe me, it still has its uses.”