Two hundred notes make a melody.
Melody is complex and discrete; it is the beacon of light in the ever-darkened abyss of life. Melody is what makes life worth living.
Two notes make a fifth.
Octavia placed her hoof on the strings, carefully playing two notes simultaneously - a challenging task for a cellist. The C came out clean and intense, but the G was muddled and vague. She frowned, playing the interval again. The grey mare smiled. Now, it was perfect.
Three notes make a chord.
Dropping the bow, the mare finally gave in to the newfound passion of jazz, strumming the strings with her right hoof, playing the chord of all chords, the chord of joy and happiness - C major.
Four notes make a seventh chord. A jazz chord.
The smooth, gentle sound of grand piano enveloped the room, soothing the cellist's ears. With a smile, she took a glance at the white unicorn mare playing a simple jazz chord progression.
A sequence of single notes makes a solo.
Octavia joined in with a broken pentatonic scale, her hoof running along the neck swiftly, accentuating the upbeat notes. It was an improvisation. It was a life.
Two hundred notes make a melody. A symphony. Unity.
Two hundred notes bring ponies together. Under the gloomy skies of Manehattan, two hundred notes are enough to invigorate anypony for the rest of the day. In one flat, two hundred notes helped two mares fall in love.
Is there anything more to ask?
"Hey, Vinyl?" Octavia said, breaking the tune.
"Huh?" The pianist blinked, revealing her red eyes.
"You are my melody."