Camille's POV:
There was nothing I loved more than playing piano.
The smooth, glossy, black-and-white keys glistened when being shined on by the pale-yellow or multi-colored concert lights. The air of intense excitement was my favorite feeling. Crashing through a wild song, or flowing through a gentle one, but no matter what you did, the audience would still give you a standing ovation if you amazed them enough.
Today's choice was a quick waltz that slowed down until it was at a crawling pace. I composed it myself. Even though I tried not to brag often, the smirk on my face couldn't be wiped off. I was too proud of myself.
From memory, I played out the whole song and even leaned in at the last note for a dramatic effect.
I smiled to myself as the last note of my song died out. Deafening cheers and applause burst through my eardrums. Simply exhilarating.
"And that was our guest pianist, Camille!" a man in a dashing navy-blue suit announced. I got up and politely bowed, the applause doubling to a standing ovation. I bowed again, this time with a cutesy swish of the hem of my dress and walked straight out, stupid heels click-clacking and all.
Ugh, so much for pretending. I hated being cute, but I knew it gained me popularity. I could care less about that, but my agent said that I would get to play more often, a tempting deal. Thus, with an aching swirl of a white gown, I grew famous within months.
Now it was behind the stage. I could do anything I wanted. Which meant...
I kicked my head back, sending a daisy-and-diamond-studded headband to come flying off. I swiftly removed my petal earrings, washed off my French-design nails, yanked off my three-inch heels and collapsed in a heap on my favorite leather couch.
My agent Eduard von Bock adjusted his glasses as his traditional greeting to me. "Camille. You won," he announced.
To that, my eyes widened. "I did?" Without a pause, the unthoughtful words poured out of my mouth. "Because, you know, I really would have thought that Roderich would've won. Seriously."
His left eyebrow raised as his lips twitched. "Ah. About him... He gave me a letter to give to you. 'Top secret', he said, so I didn't read it." He rummaged through his briefcase and found a light-purple envelope with a silver wax seal. This guy must be stinkin' rich!
Good day, Ms. Camille.
This is Mr. Edelstein writing to you. I am writing this before the end of the concert. I want to tell you how your playing is...
Horrid.
Absolutely horrid.
That is all, ma'am.
I dropped the letter in outrage. "Is that guy insane?" I shouted, kicking it as far away from my view as possible. "He dares to insult my playing... Hah! He can barely count or express the flow of his songs through body language!" My head snapped to face my agent. "Get some paper and pens. Write a letter to that fool. Tell his German-speaking self to shut his mouth."
He looked honestly shocked. "A-are you sure?" he stammered. "That might make him upset. Bad for the press, you know."
I was now standing, striking a determined pose. "I'm positive. Next year I will beat him. And the year after that and so on, until he admits I'm better!"
"Don't you play for the love of the instrument?"
"Ah... yes I do. But, for the love of Bach, can't I have a little fun, Eddy?"
Eduard cringed at my nickname for him. "Okay, okay. So a letter to Roderich about keeping his opinions to himself?"
"Yes... And make it as vulgar as you wish."