There once was a ghost who could become anything.

A doorknob, a teacup, a blanket—

Sometimes even a child's stuffed animal, just to make someone smile.

One day, the ghost saw a violinist sitting on a bench, crying.

“I left my violin on the train... and my concert is about to begin…”

The ghost thought for a moment, then floated forward and said:

“I can become your violin.”

The violinist was stunned, but time was running out.

The ghost gently stretched into the shape of a violin—warm brown wood, curved edges, polished finish—everything just right.

The concert began.

Spotlights lit up the stage. The audience fell silent.

The bow drew across the strings.

Screeeee—

A bolt of pain shot through the ghost’s body.

Every time the strings were played, it hurt terribly.

But the ghost stayed silent.