Her fingers brushed the ivory keys, testing their weight. Glancing briefly at him, she wondered if he would allow her to perhaps play the instrument below her.

He smiled briefly at her – a tender smile. Consent. He showed her where to place her feet on the pedals, so she wouldn't break them. She pushed her left foot down and played a chord. Sound rang out from the organ and echoed on the cavernous walls, dieing after only a few moments. She pushed her right foot down and began a song she remembered her father playing, back when they lived in Sweden.

He watched her appraisingly. She knew when to push the opposite pump to keep the sound, and she made few mistakes. He expected no less. She was, after all, his angel.