The tiny entrance hall to the metallic building? vehicle? pod? was cold. That was all Madotsuki noticed at first, as her tentative steps echoed out loudly. One resonation, two, three. Three steps for every one. She pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her, holding her knife carefully in one sleeved hand, ready for anything. Rarely were the denizens of her dreams violent, and yet, often did she brandish the blade.
She had been taught to expect the unexpected in her dream world, to welcome it. But the vast room that greeted her with glittering, sterile whiteness made her jerk back a little, hesitantly peeking back in. How odd. It was unusual to have such a calm place in her mind. Usually there would be the bird women or ghastly-faced men. But here, there was only a window, a grand, beautiful piano, and a monochrome figure. His skinny body was turned away from her, delicate, feminine-looking hands playing over the keys of the stark white piano. They weren't ordinary piano notes, but some lovely, otherworldly sound that rung out gently through the echoing hall. A familiar, gentle rhythm from sometime else.
Sleep, my angel; heaven is your final home...
A lullaby, and quite a beautiful one. Madotsuki didn't know where she could recall those notes and words from, but they were familiar and comforting. She found herself drooping against the door frame a little, closing her eyes and sighing. It was that little sigh that snapped a measure in half, broke a half note partway.
The figure whipped around, black hair slicing the air. His eyes were odd, crossed and large, but his face was slender and innocent. He looked like someone she could trust, even if he was just ignoring her. But he didn't seem to be, as most dream denizens did. His eyes widened even more as she slowly crossed the room, approaching like he was a wild animal and was liable to lash out at the last moment.
"It's okay." Her voice was hoarse from disuse. She coughed quietly, breathing against blockages that weren't there, and then cleared her throat. "I won't hurt you," she whispered. He hit the wall, sliding down it and curling up to touch his head to his knees, hiding. His slender shoulders were shaking. Madotsuki tilted her head slightly, pitying the poor thing who acted like he had never seen another person in his life. Gently, she knelt down beside him, her side to the cold wall. "Hey," she murmured.
He shivered again. He looked like skin and bones, pointy shoulders and knees, so little muscle he looked like he could be shoved over by the hollow wind of the Dark World. His criss-cross eyes stared at her from the corner of his knee and hand, silent and afraid. From the knife, to her, the knife, to her. Madotsuki immediately shook her head, holding up the knife, tossing it away with a sharp cling against the piano. Gone. Safe.
Tentatively, she reached out to touch him, to grab his hand, and he didn't move. His fingers were cold. His hands were sweaty. She laced her fingers through his, feeling the warmth drain out of her skin to swirl through his. She didn't need it there anyway. She could never truly die in the dream world. Not from freezing, not from wounds. The terrified man could take it all for all she cared. Gently, she pulled his hand closer, onto her lap, slowly uncurling him from his little cocoon.
"See?" she said, smiling. "I won't hurt you." When he didn't reply, she continued. "You were playing that lullaby, weren't you? It was very pretty."
Instantly, he looked up a bit more, revealing what she had suspected; he had no mouth. He would not reply to her anyway, but she kept talking.
"A sad song. Is that all you play? Sad songs?" she asked, though she didn't expect or receive an answer. She stood, and he cowered back a bit, but she pulled him up to stand with her. "Could you show me again?" His skinny figure towered over her small stature, his hands slender and his fingers long. He was like a ghost, a wraith of a pianist, stretched out and pulled over the loom of time. He took a few careful steps, and Madotsuki kicked the knife further away from the piano to ensure his comfort. All at once, his fingertips came back into contact with the keys, and the world was alive with sound. Melody and harmony rang forth and vibrated off the thick glass of the window, notes of the likes of which she had never heard and could not name.
His shoulders relaxed when he played the monochrome instrument. His hands were loose and light and graceful, swooping and twisting like a bird on the tempest winds. She could have sworn he smiled despite his obvious lack of lips to do so with. It was the same song, a little slower, so she could see more clearly how he did it, and she still heard the words to the unnamed notes.
Fly, my angel. Life is sweeter elsewhere.
Both of them, the lonely musician and the lonelier girl, stayed tranquilly silent as the song rang out, the final notes hovering on hummingbird wings, softly fading into nothing but velvety cold air.
Time will heal my pain.