“No,” Selene whispered, suddenly aware of how close Victor’s face was to hers. They’d done this so many times, been like this so many times. And yet this time it felt different. Everything made new. “This is something else.”
There was a knot in her stomach. She’d thought it was excitement at the time. Father had worked late into the night. She hadn’t been able to sleep, so she’d watched him, wondered what melody drove the frantic movement of his pen. He’d hit a few notes on the piano and then gone back to scribbling. The candles had all burned down.
“I’ve done it,” Father had said at last, putting down his pen. Ink splattered his fingers and the corner of the page.
Father was laughing, laughing, laughing. He’d taken his music and cast it into the fire before Selene knew to stop him. She ran to the fireplace, ready to snatch the pages out of the blaze. But it was too late. The center blackened and spread. Selene read the melody just before it turned to ash. It was strange and unfamiliar, lifting and lilting in a way that seemed impossible for the voice. Dissonant, with octave leaps and modulations.
Like the writings of a madman.
Or a genius.
“Father?”
He picked her up and spun her around, once, twice, thrice. “This is it, Selene. This is the end.”
And she’d foolishly thought that it meant they would go home, back to the cottage by the sea. She’d thought it was all over.
She’d been right, in a way.
Father stood before them, his dark hair smoothed back. He wore his favorite suit. Silver and blue. There was a determined peace in his countenance. The king tapped his foot on the ground expectantly.
Father placed his fingers on the neck of the mahogany violin and ran his bow over the strings. It was a little sharp. He adjusted the tuning and played another note. Selene loved when her father played the violin. It paired so well with his voice, almost like a duet. It brought her back to moonlit nights in the cottage, where every lullaby was accompanied by faeries and falling stars.
Selene reached out and grabbed Victor’s hand. He wove his fingers between hers.
“When this is finished,” he whispered, “let’s have an adventure.”
“This time,” Selene said, “I get to be the pirate.”
She prepared herself for the usual banter on who got to be the pirate and who got to be the general, an argument that usually ended with the flip of a coin.
“I’d follow you across the sea.” Victor looked at her then like he was seeing her for the first time. Selene took a controlled breath, trying not to lose herself in the light of his eyes. He brushed his thumb against the hollow of her throat. “I don’t want you to go.”
Selene thought of the things she could say. She didn’t want to go, either. She didn’t want to burst the bubble of this idyllic life of wayward adventures and endless summers. Victor wasn’t just her best friend. He was so much more. And maybe she was bridging that gap between a child and a young lady. Maybe she was okay with things changing. Maybe the butterflies that fluttered inside her meant something.
Selene didn’t have a chance to say any of those things.
The violin shrieked.
That first chord straightened Selene’s spine and made her skin crawl. It was ugly and dissonant and almost painful to hear. The slide of the violin was anything but beautiful.
And then Father started to sing.
It was the strangest thing, how all the minor seconds and unresolved fifths and sevenths and sharp ninths could sound right under her father’s voice. That warm, endless baritone filled the whole room. Like this whole place had been built simply to contain the divinity of his voice.
Selene marveled at how beauty could remove her from her own body. She felt herself lifted, the warmth of Victor’s hand fading to nothing. She hadn’t even realized how much her shoes pinched until the feeling was gone. The rose in Selene’s hand shimmered, as if with heat. Selene’s very skin seemed like it was made of glass, like something was happening inside her that she couldn’t understand. There was only light and dissonance and Father.
Until.
From one heartbeat to the next, Father went from singing to screaming. The music continued on the violin. Desperate and jarring, like silver against glass. Cutting, breaking, screeching. He wasn’t even playing anymore. The violin floated in the air, moving of its own accord.
Father’s back was arched like a bow pulled too tight. His movements were disjointed. Joints popped in and out of their sockets, moving at impossible angles. He pressed his lips together, still singing, still screaming. Blood ran from his mouth. Broken teeth, bitten tongue, throat in ruins.
Selene flew to her feet. He’d warned her that music could open up channels, how the music could find each bruise of the soul and press and press until it yielded anguish. But it had never been like this. She had never seen him like this.
Victor grabbed her arm, but she wrenched herself free.
“Tell me what to do. Tell me how to help.” She was beside her father, wiping at his bloody face with her pinafore.
