AN: This is a random bit I wrote after a friend of mine asked me to give up the violin, saying that my desire to someday play The Devil's Trill was a damning dream. This is what I thought about after our conversation in which she still didn't understand my reasons for wanting to play it so badly, so I thought back to the song's lore and myth while trying to show what I felt. BTW I used Him and Her because saying Her and Her would get too confusing.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Devil's Trill, thought someday I pray to claim the song as one of my own.
He remembered hearing somewhere that in order to play the song you had to sell your soul to the devil and though he never asked he wondered if that was true. He often wondered if the fame and wealth that came with the talent to play the song had any equation to the fame and wealth the devil so often traded for souls in the old stories. But then his friend had never lost the shine in her eyes, had never struck out violently, and had never taken the wealth to be her own. Surely someone a pure as she still had her soul, how could she put it into her music if she did not? But still he cursed that damned song that everyone seemed to love.
The Devil's Trill
It broke his heart to watch his friend, a child of angels, play the song of the damned. He knew he wasn't the only one that dreaded the song either, he could see some people that came to hear her wince as he did, as though the beautiful music she played was twisting itself into something sick. It was bone chilling and what made it worse was that she played it with a small smile on her lips and her eyes almost peacefully closed.
She always saved it for last, the demon song, it was always the song that left people talking and sometimes it seemed that it was the only song they cared to hear. What a wonder it was to know that his dear one's famed song might have come at the cost of her soul, truly humans were creatures to be shamed for such sick pleasured.
Every time she played he wondered what she felt, sometimes her fingers bled and he knew she felt pain, others she laughed mid-song and he knew not what kind of laugh it truly was. He wanted to beg her to lay down her violin but knew that was akin to asking her to pull out her own heart and he couldn't do that because he knew she would. So he continued to ache as he listened to the damned notes she brought forth and feel pain for her.
Once years ago when she had been trying to draw the song to her thin fingers he had asked her about love, wanting to know if her ambition had taken that from her as it had so many other things. She had told him that she loved, she loved truly and deeply but that she was never loved in return. She had spoken of three people she had loved, her mentor, her partner, and her friend, all of whom never loved her in as she did them and so she had turned to her music. Her music, she said, spoke of love to her for without her it could not thrive and sing, and without it she could not smile.
So on she played, the damned song ringing through the strings, the crowd captured in awe, and him wanting so desperately to know why. It would all turn on her eventually, he'd warned, it was only so great for so long then she would fall, so fast and hard no one would know to save her. He would watch her do it too, shouting his warnings and begging for her to come down before her wings gave out, yet knowing she would not. They both knew, she would fall and break while he watched, and yet, she played on.
I will fall, just as Icarus fell into the ocean with no hope of being saved so I shall fall with no hope of being seen, and yet before I fall I too shall touch the sun.