Chapter 16. Forgotten Waltz.
The doors of the music room creaked open as I stepped in. The polished grand piano stared at me, daring me to join the last battle.
I sat on the stool before the piano, opening its lid. I hadn’t played the instrument in years: always preferring the dramatic and passionate violin to gentle and soft piano, but today my mind demanded tranquil melancholia that could reach to the very depths of my soul and make me feel something—anything beyond this utter hollow.
My fingers brushed over the raw keys of the instrument as I tried to remember any piece I’d learned, yet only one came to mind. Only one seemed to fit such circumstances: Sandra’s favorite.
She hadn’t fancied waltzes as much as I had, but this one she’d asked me to play again and again on my violin, until my fingers would be sore from the instrument, and every bone in my body would beg for rest.
I warmed up my fingers as the empty hole inside of me grew with dread. The burns on my fingers almost faded, leaving me with nothing but emptiness.
I took a deep breath, settling my hands in the proper position. My eyes studied the keys I was so afraid to press. For the last time, I glanced at the closed door, making sure no one was to witness my inevitable shatter.
I wasn’t sure why I did this at all, knowing that the music would lead to an unstoppable meltdown. Perhaps I needed it somewhere so deep in my soul that even my consciousness guarded me from the thought. Perhaps I was so tired of the heartbreak, that the pain that would come sounded like salvation.
I hadn’t cried since the day I’d lost her, for I’d known if the first tear were to fall, they would never have stopped until my soul had drowned in misery.
I closed my eyes when the first note played; every inch of my skin was covered in bumps. My hands shook as I pressed the keys: slowly, as though the melody would grow claws and end me before my heartache would.
My marked skin screamed in agony, yet my soul screamed louder.
The dread in my stomach shrunk the more I played, yet the tears didn’t come. Not yet, though I knew they would.
The melody smelled like Sandra: wildflowers and caramel, fresh dew and old books. The melody painted pictures of dawn that would shimmer in Sandra’s hair, and green, as the summer forest, that reminded me of her eyes.
The music continued on its own, my blackened fingers didn’t belong to me any longer, sounding harsher than it needed to be, though it perfectly fit the story of Sandra's life in the end. Horror and despair. Excruciation and... Death.
The music carried me away from the castle—somewhere I had no right to be—for Sandra’s gentle hands stretched out to me, soothing my crying heart. She was so close: I could hear her strong heartbeat, her bright laughter, and her magical singing.
The ballad she’d written when we were children, about a girl who grew wings which carried her far-far away to a land that only knew happiness and peace, erupted in the room.
Her voice, so strong but so delicate, caressed my ears and forced silent tears to my soul. Her sweet voice stripped me of all the anger that had filled me from the day we’d parted. Bare, I was unsure how to handle the vulnerability. I let the tears fall.
The tears burned my cheeks, falling down onto the keyboard of the piano. My eyes could no longer see the keys; my fingers kept missing the notes, yet it mattered not. If I had to stay here forever, playing the same piece to hear her voice for a mere moment, I was glad to oblige.
I hit the keys as more tears fell; my fingers could no longer move, my eyes could no longer see, my mind could no longer think.
I stared at the keyboard through the glass that covered my vision. The music echoed in my head—
Careful steps moved towards me, and I wiped the evidence of being distraught off my face.
I got up from the stool, ready to flee. Yet, when I saw Francis standing in the center of the room, my mind betrayed me.
My legs gave out as I collapsed onto the marble floor before him, my knees screaming out in protest from the impact.
“I killed her,” I whispered before the agony teared up my throat. “Francis—” I bellowed when he dropped beside me, his hands holding me tight from shattering into small pieces.
“I killed her,” I kept repeating again and again as my heart fractured. “How can I live—”
“Shhh.” Francis’ hand fell onto the back of my neck; his cold fingers caressed my skin. “You didn’t kill her, Kane did.”
