Disclaimer: ソウルイーター © Okubo Atsushi
She feels a sense of calmness settling over her when he yells her name, when he touches her masked face. There is a piano - how very like him. She takes a seat because he tells her to, and feels the lace on her newly-formed dress rustle against her folded knees.
Every word that he says wraps around her like a protective blanket; keeps her warm too. She feels her anguish slowly seeping away, feels that the sudden gush of sadness from before dissipating into thin air. They speak about insanity and power and fights and fear - they speak of things that they face together, always.
She lifts her face.
He gives her courage -
His hand is slightly larger than hers as he takes hold of her gloved one, like a gentleman offering the last dance to a lady. He's cooler than he thinks, she murmurs to herself, a smile fleeting across her face. Their hearts are beating at the same pace, same rhythm.
He speaks, and she listens - he tells her to pick a note. She can't play the piano, can't play any instrument because Papa had been silly and hadn't thought it necessary for a girl to learn something like the violin, at least. But it's okay, because he's got her hand in his, now. It's okay, because he's there to guide her, now.
C, D, E. F - G?
G.
Right in the middle, safe.
He makes her feel safe.
G - she likes it.
Her finger presses down upon the faded ivory and the note resonates throughout the entire space as the world explodes around them.
He gives her strength, gives her courage.
She doesn't realise that she does the same, for him.