Disclaimer: Obviously, anything you recognize belongs solely to the creators of the anime (if it didn't, Yuuri and Viktor would've been married by now :)) ); I claim only the storyline and a bunch of OCs who I sincerely hope you'll grow to love.
prologue
song of my youth, love of my heart
"Hi! My name is Zoya, I'm five, and I'd love for us to be friends!"
Zoya says all this with twinkling eyes and a smile so big as to encompass the universe, her hand extended towards an older girl in the polite way her Mama taught her. Her companion of choice –twelve, if she had to guess, but numbers don't hold much meaning for her yet- shakes her head, a confused half-smile springing on her face; but she shakes Zoya's hand all the same, and Zoya doesn't feel quite so alone.
Actually, this one of Zoya's favorite parts in an international competition – meeting a stream of possible friends, young musicians all, and fumbling with introductions in languages so strange they make her head spin. But the cultural barriers make everything so much more special, in Zoya's eyes: easy smiles that are suddenly laden with meaning, shrugs that say "I don't understand" and dimples that answer "I know, it doesn't matter, we can still be friends".
So, with an air of experience, Zoya points towards herself and stretches her name into two clear syllables, then gestures towards the girl and presents the upside of her palms in question. The girl laughs brightly, chocolate curls bouncing with excitement, and says "Giulia" just as an official calls for a signorina Crivello.
Giulia startles and bites her lip, worry creeping slowly onto her face like a gathering of storm clouds. Zoya sees her hands tremble (just a little, but enough to concern, because pianists need steady hands just as surely as nights need stars) and so she covers them with hers, a blanket of empathetic feelings and good wishes.
"In bocca al lupo*!" Zoya's lips twist awkwardly around the letters, but Giulia seems to understand because she throws her arms around Zoya and whispers "Grazie!*" into her soft curls before she hurries off to the stage.
Zoya feels the first tendrils of warmth coiling around her heart and she hopes that she'll see Giulia the next month, too, at the competition in Gagny. For now, she is left feeling grateful to her mother, who teaches her the same words in all the languages she feels are relevant – Zoya knows how to say "Good luck!", "Thank you" and "Please" in five languages, excluding her native Russian. Sure, she butchers the pronunciation, and the words don't always make much sense, but she still takes the trouble to learn because she'd like to have someone whisper "Udači!*" in the shell of her ear, and mean it, too.
But for now she sticks to shrugs and nods and handshakes and the broken Italian phrases she knows, trying not to feel too lost in the middle of strangers. (There is one other girl from Russia, just a couple of years older than her, but Diana always sneers and glares, so Zoya tends to avoid her.)
Zoya isn't familiar with anyone else in the "Don Vincenzo Vitti" competition, but she feels a kind of kinship with all the other pianists, something that goes beyond the title of acquaintance but doesn't skim the realm of affection.
(It is just this: it seems like the imposing hallway in which they are waiting has a heartbeat, or maybe their hearts have synchronized to a song known by all, and they can at least be comforted by the idea that everyone else feels it too, nerves morphing into numb fingertips, dread becoming anticipation.)
In no time at all (or so Zoya feels), her name is called, and she walks slowly to the official, one foot in front of the other, even and regal. He bends to place a hand on the back of her blue dress (it's frilly and sparkling and the color of her eyes and Zoya positively loves it), guiding her towards the stage.
She looks straight ahead, shoulders drawn back, as she makes her way towards the piano (Steinway & Sons, all clean lines and the epitome of elegance). Zoya sits and sneaks a peek at the public, and she feels overwhelmed, just for a second, before she places her hands above the keyboard and checks that they're steady (they are).
Zoya draws in a deep breath (the air is musty and vaguely dusty and it reminds her of libraries filled to the brim with old books) and cajoles the keys into song. As music feels the air, the little Russian girl loses sight of everything – the audience and the scores and the prize might as well not exist, they are so inconsequential. Her Universe becomes the piano, and the keys become her world, and the sounds (short and hesitant at first, as the song commands, and then fast and lively all of a sudden) become a story she weaves at her leisure.
It's not the first time she's played in a contest, and it won't be the last.
But it is at this moment in time, in this place in the heart of Italy, that Zoya makes a promise to herself: she will never give up playing, never stay her fingers or still the notes that dance around her heart. It is too deeply ingrained in her, this love for music, to be ignored or cast aside. Zoya is happy, most of the time – but never does she feel such joy as she when plays for an audience. (In their enthrallment she finds glory and the stilted gasps of wonder become her lullaby.)
She is not only a musician, but a performer, too, and she vows never to give it up, come what may.
(But her vow will slink back into obscurity, past memories and into forgetfulness, and in her heart will live songs no longer, but sorrow and pain. Afterwards –so long after that people forgot about her, Russia's child prodigy, and turned her name into legend-, she will return to it, to the piano that was her solace in her youth, an oasis in an endless desert. But it will take a few months, many screaming matches, a soulful conversation or two, and a blossoming romance with one Yuri Plisetsky.)
Firstly, thank you so much for reading! (it means the world to me). I know this chapter is very short -the others are much longer, I promise!- but I wanted to introduce Zoya's character gradually, so she'd blend with the story better. I hope you liked it :) Also:
In bocca al lupo = Good luck (Italian; it literally means "in the wolf's mouth")
Grazie = Thanks (Italian)
Udači = Good luck (Russian, pronunciation only)
The "Don Vincenzo Vitti" competition is actually a real-life event, taking place anually in Castellana Grotte, Italy. I chose it because it has no age limit xD
