AN: First off, you can thank my friends for telling me to post this.
*scratches the back of her head* I really don't know what this is. I guess the only way I can explain it is with a question: You know when you're having a very emotional day (usually bad or frustrating), and you just want to write something to blow off steam, logic and flow be damned? Yeah, I guess this is what this is. And Michiru was the one chosen to be the vessal to write through. I'm not exactly sure why, but I've always had a soft spot for her. There's just so much room in her character to support deep, passionate emotions.
So anyway, these may not make sense. They may be horribly dramatic. The grammar could be so skewed its deliciously bad. Characters and situations probably won't adhere to normal laws. But overall, all that matters, is that they're definately me.
I don't own Sailor Moon nor the characters associated with it.
Beautiful sad bow strokes filled the room. The music bounced off the walls, each new note overlapping and obscuring the echoes of its elders. Each stroke was flawless even as a rough undertone vibrated beneath. It was the hollow sound of bowstrings scraping across violin strings. As if the violinist hadn't applied enough rosin at the beginning of the song. Or maybe she had. Maybe she had been playing endlessly, tirelessly, possessively for far too long.
Her arm moved fluidly, expertly angling the bow as she wanted, listening to some private music in her head, translating it with each stroke and caress. Her fingers followed along, sometimes taking the lead, pushing and pulling the music where they wanted to go. Her arm would let them, fading into the background, until suddenly rushing up to take the violin back with brutal harsh staccato notes. Her fingers and arm fought against each other with a fearlessness born of having never lost, neither willing to fully submit.
The music, at its core, was a dance. It was a dance of power, of sadness and hopelessness, of anger and regrets. A dance of heartbreak.
Finally, with a crashing crescendo of vicious fury, each note growing wilder and wilder, barely managing to be controlled by her movements, Michiru abruptly ended the agony with a single, ear piercing vibrating wail of bow and violin.
She dropped her instrument from her shoulder. A means to conquer her pain, the violin suddenly seemed a ghost of what it had been, empty of the soul it had possessed. She stared at it, holding both bow and ghost up in her hands. As if she had never seen them before.
She realized she was shaking from the intensity she had chosen to endure. Laying the violin down into its case, she placed the bow on top. They looked dead, limp. With one last glance, she turned and walked away, leaving them alone.