Staring idly out over the expanse of Twilight Town, a blonde musician began plucking the strings of a blue sitar, releasing a haunting melody out into the cool air. The man sighed as he played, and watched in grim resignation as the storm of emotions he had been trying to hold off swelled inside of him, threatening to burst free of his mental prison.
His fingers danced effortlessly across the strings, drawing more sorrowful music from them. He didn't pause, even when a faint grumble of thunder sounded in the distance and the air temperature dropped. Instead, he began to play more furiously, coaxing the storm closer and feeding it wisps of his power as well as his anger and sorrow. Rain began to patter down, and even as high as he was, the man could see the faces of the residents of Twilight Town, looking up in bewilderment.
Loud bursts of sound followed vivid streaks of lightning, and the man grinned. He couldn't control every element in the world, just strengthen it. Too bad no one else seemed to realize that. He laughed bitterly, a sound that seemed so out of place coming from his normally smiling lips. Unfortunately, smiles had a way of disappearing when the people they were meant for disappeared as well.
Rain was now pouring down relentlessly, pounding onto the man and soaking him to the skin. His playing didn't falter, however, and somehow the mournful melody carried over the sounds of the storm, blending with them and strengthening them.
A flicker of lightning darted down from the clouds and licked at a roof, sending it up in flames, but they were quickly doused by the sheer intensity of the pouring rain. Flames. How strange, that a person whose element was water would become enraptured with flames.
They were so beautiful, but so quick to burn. And they were greedy, seeking to consume everything in their paths. But they could be kind and gentle, providing warmth and comfort, as well as light in the darkness.
The thunder began to fight a war with the lightning, seeing who could strike more fear. For every flicker of lightning, there was the blackness of the storm clouds to send the sound crashing back to the earth. Light and darkness. Those things were always considered key.
Keys. They are so useful, unlocking things, and locking them, keeping them safe. But sometimes, if you unlock something, you might not like what comes out. And locking things away has its problems as well. If lock something away and never let it have any light, its colors begin to fade, and merge with the container you've locked in. In the case of a bright memory, if you lock it away and refuse to look at it for fear of damaging it, it will lose its luster and appeal, forcing you to wonder why you chose to keep that memory, replacing it with another, perhaps one less important.
Important memories. The man smiled, tears streaming down his face. Why did he was some many important, painful memories? Every time he thought about the bright flames that had let warmth and light into his life, he felt a deep pang in his chest, something akin to a wound. Every time he thought about the key that had unlocked something for both him and his flame, he sobbed from the double agony.
He cried out and water began to mingle with blood and the red substance began to ooze from the man's fingertips, the thick leather gloves protecting them worn away by the power of his playing. As the tainted drops rolled to the edge of the sitar and plummeted to the ground below, they shrieked their rage and agony at being torn away from their place in the world.
The heavens seemed to be ripping themselves apart, sending rain and lightning down with a ferocity never before seen in Twilight Town. The residents cowered in their homes, fear mingling with sorrow from the sweet tragic music that came to them from the skies.
The man shook his sodden hair away from his face as he began to play a different melody, this one filled with hurt and longing. The people below felt themselves crying at the intensity of the music, and with relief they noticed the dark angry clouds had faded, but left them with something that could be much worse: A slate-grey sky, as far as the eye could see, rain sheeting down continuously, the monotony never broken, not even by a breath of wind.
The man flinched as he felt a blistering heat next to him, and his fingers faltered, letting a discordant note slip out, but it was quickly replaced. Bright red hair stood out starkly in the grey wasteland that seemed to be the sky, and the man winced as fire itself pressed a loving kiss upon his lips. Green eyes winked at him before vanishing and taking the heat with them.
He sighed deeply and felt something in his chest shatter just a little more. When a soft golden presence next to him brushed his cheek, he looked up from his sitar and into soft blue eyes framed by a glorious halo of golden spikes. Those eyes smiled at him and pressed a tender kiss to his burned lips before disappearing.
The man tilted his head up towards the grey sky, letting water caress his wounded lips and damaged heart. He slowed his playing, and looked up. He saw cloud of golden flames flicker overhead, and then vanish. He smiled once more, his burden eased. He let his fingers wander, and watched in slight detachment as the heavens slip, bringing light and happiness once more to the residents of Twilight Town. The man shook his head and let the beautiful instrument slip through his fingers, falling, and then shattering on the unforgiving ground beneath the clock tower upon which he sat.
The sighed. It was such a pity to destroy something so beautiful and innocent, but at least now he could devote himself to make another one, a better one. He missed his bright flame and sweet key to the light. And oh, how he hated being stuck in equilibrium.