She breathes in the cool night air, music ringing in her ears. The music that had so sweetly engulfed her and thrown her into a heady rush of excitement and shook her with tremors of love – and fear.
He bows his head, eyes glinting, fingers dancing across the gilded black and white keys of the piano. A tragic melody in a minor key flows and echoes around the catacombs of his dungeon as a single tear falls.
That face that haunted her dreams and shook her to the very bone – was it possible that the monster that wore that disfigured skin was the same musician that composed the most fluid melodies that struck her soul like a fist?
The thin, reedy voice had, under his tutelage, steadily progressed to a rich soprano, soaring high above the clouds, pure, clear and beautiful. She was magnificent, his creation and instrument for the finest musical expression.
He may be the musician, but she is his marionette.