Notes: This story was written for the (awesome) livejournal community comment_fic, based on the prompt: "Dreams are a place where reality has no meaning, and anything can happen".
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Beth March had never troubled herself with aspirations. In return, dreams rarely troubled themselves with her. She was the most tranquil of sleepers, and on the rare occasions when the night chose to paint pictures behind her closed eyes, they were only images of her home and her chores, or sometimes her sisters or her little piano. Usually she forgot about them in the morning.
One evening after several long months spent trying to wean herself off of life, Beth dreamed that she was playing piano before a large concert hall. She wore a pale dress, and the instrument before her was large and polished black, with keys as purely white as a dove's wings. And the music!
Beth awoke with a gasp, for something akin to longing stirred within her, and she felt unaccountably disturbed.
"How strange," she said to herself, very softly, for her movement had awakened Jo who never left her side these days.
"What is it dear?" Jo asked, adjusting her coverlet as Beth lay back against pillows.
"Only a dream," Beth whispered, "a very good one, I think."
She shut her eyes, as Jo ran a gentle hand through her hair. Beneath the covers she stretched out her own hands, regretting terribly how very limited she was. Her fingers were too thin now, too weak to produce the music that she loved. Perhaps she would be able to play again in heaven, or perhaps that was only an Earthly concern and she wouldn't care to once she was there.
Beth turned on her side, hoping that Jo would not see the few tears that fell against her pillow.