Prologue

Nocturne in the Moonlight

He came from the sea in the stillness of the night. He gave no thought as to how he could rise from the glittering blue-black waves—he just appeared like the wind. As full as a silver coin the moon shone upon his form, the molten beams dancing off his golden hair. He ascended the hill with the ease of a spider and stood a moment upon its precipice.

Then he turned to the mansion cresting the hill, his feet making no sound as he approached. His tall black boots did not disturb the leaves as he strode through the courtyard of stone. Everything seemed ignorant of his existence as if he were but a shadow or mere thought. His gloved hands touched the doors to the mansion.

Or not exactly touched. Slipped through. The rest of his body met no resistance as well, and he stepped within the main foyer. No one strode within the halls nor was there any sound. It was as silent as his own steps as he ascended a set of stairs. As its height he encountered three hallways and, with just a hint of hesitation, proceeded to the far left.

The chandelier, halfway down, lit the hallway poorly leaving most of it in darkness. That did not halt or even slow his gait. If anything, his stride lengthened as he neared his destination. Already he could hear her. The soft sounds of her breath, her words and her tears. He waited to hear her for…months? Years? He'd forgotten how long…

And there was the door. Again, he did not know how he knew that. He just did. Had there not even been sounds to guide his feet, he would have found her. With the same ease with everything else, he passed through the door and slipped behind a crimson curtain. He was not ready just yet…

His breath (if it could be called that) caught in his throat at sight of her. Just as he remembered her…That same fiery spirit, that same lovely figure. He smiled faintly as she cursed while hurling a hairpin to the carpeted floor. Her sun-shaded hair tumbled down her shoulders. That smile deepened as she slipped off her shoes with a grumble.

That smile faded to a frown however as the moonlight revealed her tears.

He would have her smiling again before the night was out.

"Stupid old men…and their stupid speeches…and their stupid parties…." She dropped onto the couch, tears staining the pillow. "….what do they really know of you…" His heart—what was left of it—wrenched at witnessing her pain and seeing her tears. It was for him, he knew. He did not like being the source of her sorrow. He would have to change that…

After a few minutes, he heard gentle snores so he abandoned his hiding place. Carefully, he stepped over to her prone form, hands folded under her cheek. Genuflecting, he gazed at her sweet face for a long time. He was so still that birds might have mistaken him for a statue in the mansion's courtyard and perched on him. His hands hovered over her hair.

Without ever touching her, he rose and crossed the distance to a piano in the far corner of the room, ebony cape fluttering behind like a host of ravens. He glanced back once at the still-slumbering beauty then set himself down on the bench. He stretched then briefly observed the piano.

There was no search for music sheets; no pause to ponder notes. His fingers glided onto the keys, drawing a string of poignant notes. A smile slid into his lips and he pressed with greater force. The music intensified, a symphony of haunting. It was beautiful as the night was beautiful—mysterious and dark, alluring and mesmerizing.

No error was made; not a note was sour.

She stirred but did not awaken, frown lines creasing her forehead. He did not halt when he came to the end of song but hurled himself into another. This one was slightly darker. It was a song of death and loss, a story he knew so well. The notes were harsher, louder, but with the same terrible beauty as the first song.

Before his fingers hit the last note, he heard a gasp. Smiling softly, he titled his head so he could see her climb to her feet. Her hands covered her mouth, emerald eyes shimmering. She did not immediately speak. She did not seem to quite believe what she saw. Giving an almost indiscernible nod, his fingers reached for the keys to commence another song.

"….Oh, my god….is it really you?"

He did not answer her—wasn't even sure if he could anyways—but he did swing around on the bench. For a moment she said not another word, scrutinizing him. He bore it without burden, just glad to have her near. The music had pleased her he could tell. He wasn't sure where he'd learned how to play but the skill felt as ingrained as walking.

As if afraid he would disappear like a wisp, she advanced upon him. Sharp hope shined her eyes. Swallowing, she sat down on the bench beside him. Each time she tried to speak emotion choked the words silent. Words didn't matter to him. She was happy. He had made her happy. Why that mattered he neither knew nor cared.

"I've missed you for so long!" she gasped.

He'd missed her too but was uncertain how to convey that.

Then with a sudden burst of inspiration, he leaned forward…to kiss her? Yes, that was his desire. To kiss her. So deeply he'd remembered everything. So passionately she'd never want him to stop. For the briefest flutter of a heartbeat he felt the pressure, the first he'd experienced since he could recall.

Then there was nothing, nothing at all.