Her fingers settled onto the keys as if they knew exactly what they needed to do. Of course they did. She had been playing piano for years, allowing the sweet music to intertwine with her life. It wasn't entertainment anymore, though. It was an asylum. A haven. A safe house from the ugly remains of war on the other side of the painted wall.
The golden light from the evening sun leaked through the window, dancing along her slender fingers as she lifted her hands to begin the piece.
As the sparkling melody sounded through the quiet house, she let her pain leak into the music. Every note twinkled with hurt before dying out. By the end of the piece, she had been able to let go. All that remained in her once agitated mind was a wary calm.
"Roderich," she called. She turned to see her husband, her piano teacher, gracefully stand up.
"Yes?" He walked towards her, slightly bothered by the part where she had used the wrong touch. Light, quick fingers, not curved fingers.
"I'm hungry…" she muttered guiltily. Roderich sighed. It was to be expected of Elizaveta.
"Very well, we shall resume tomorrow."
Elizaveta smiled and headed for the kitchen as Roderich walked towards the dining room. Usually Elizaveta would have never gone into any kitchen. The kitchen was for the servants, not for the mistress of the house. However no one wanted to move with the couple to the new territory gained from a costly war. Well... there was one servant, but he was violent and useless most of the time. Elizaveta was left to do all of the housework as it was almost unthinkable for the master of the house to get his hands dirty.
Elizaveta quickly made two sandwiches with the leftover salami from earlier in the day. Dinner was not a large meal, but they didn't have many ingredients to spare anyways. She carried the two plates into the dining room, placing her plate next to Roderich's. Traditionally, they would sit on opposite ends of the table, but there wasn't anything traditional about life anymore.
They silently ate their dinner, Elizaveta feeling guilty with each bite of food. This very morning, she had seen a native child digging through her trash can. She didn't have the heart to wave off the child, yet she had just watched from the safety of her little upstairs window as a soldier, her country's soldier, yelled and jeered at the small boy, sending the child scurrying down the street.
Elizaveta painfully swallowed her last bite, quickly kissed Roderich on the cheek, and hurried upstairs to her bedchamber. The cruelty of the war was allowing her to finally see past the gates of her wealth and high standing in society.
As she daintily mounted each step of the grand staircase, she brooded over the invisible world of hardships and poverty that had been showing itself more and more frequently. After all, she had been the one who wanted to move to this new colony. Roderich had tried hard to shield her from the harsh reality of the world by covering her in a veil of music, splendor, and comfort.
She went to her bed and slowly lay down, pushing away the images of pain her country has caused. By the time Roderich came to see Elizaveta, she was already lightly snoring.
