Erik lit his composition aflame with a candle, sauntered with it in hand to the lake, and dropped it in. The ruined paper and black notes floated away. They were all turning out like this. Dull. Unworthy. His standards were far too high for it. Still, it was inconvenient to have to procure so much paper, and ink, on worthless projects. Ink. There was an idea. An idea from a bygone era, but an idea nonetheless. It was appropriate, since more color had come into his life. Her color.
He reached into the back of a dusty collection of drawers that had lain forgotten for some time. His bony fingers reached past an old hair comb from Rouen and grasped a wooden box. His yellow eyes gazed upon it. A gift from the sultana. It was worn now. The carvings of the clematis that had been a new curiosity there still bore a large scratch from his hand of years ago. He opened it, inside were his old inks. Knowing the recipe he'd used, he was confident they were still just as good as they'd been on that twilit evening in Astara.
He closed his eyes and brought to mind the navy blue that he saw when she sang. Deep, rich. Pulling you in yet full of integrity. A color he'd only heard on a few specific occasions in his life. He reached into the box and pulled out the corresponding color. There was still quite a lot left, he hadn't used it because he couldn't imagine anyone who would sing with that color. Now he knew who it would be. The other part would be which? The orange. The familiar dark sunset orange, intense and captivating. The voice of the angel of music he pretended to be. This one he saw every day of his regrettable existence. Together they had an intoxicating harmony. Time to begin.
A duet.