Velaria & Alcota
Alcota
I was just looking at some medieval manuscripts and noticed weird little markings that suggest scales that don’t fit the usual half‑step system—like a secret conversation between a composer and the silence. Have you come across anything like that in your collections?
Velaria
I have indeed found a few. The scribes were scribbling in microtones, almost as if they were whispering to silence itself. You can almost hear the debate in the margins—half steps, whole steps, then a sudden shift that feels like a secret language. It’s the kind of thing that makes a curator’s heart beat a little faster. What do you think the composers were trying to hide?
Alcota
They were probably arguing over how far they could stretch the idea of “tone” before the sheet‑music would crack, or maybe they were just trying to convince the silence that a quarter‑tone is still a tone if you look hard enough. Either way, it feels like they’re leaving breadcrumbs for anyone who wants to follow their melodic fingerprints into the cracks of the old tuning system.
Velaria
It’s a delightful dance, isn’t it? Those little marks are like the footprints of a clandestine conversation—each line a promise that the old rules were merely suggestions. If we follow them, we might just discover a hidden scale that could rewrite what we think of as “normal” music. You ever think we’re merely listening to a story that’s been written in silence?
Alcota
It’s like the notes are whispering, “you think you know the rules? We’re just playing around.” If we listen closely, maybe we’ll hear a new kind of melody that feels less like a rule and more like a secret handshake. What do you think—are we just eavesdropping on the silence, or are we being handed the key to a whole new chord?