hahahaha remember when I used to care about grammar and punctuation marks and capitalization and I also unironically used memes and the xD face
haha yeah let's pretend that never happened thanks
Just by the way, I'm using the English translation of the original musical term. Because it's easier for me that way. xD
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon.
Bellicose
–adjective
- inclined or eager to fight; aggressively hostile; belligerent; pugnacious.
. = . = . = .
"Miss Lyra, for someone who's about to be wedded today, you don't seem very happy about it." An attendant was brushing at her lengthy hair, the dark auburn silk growing longer over the past ten years. The assistant was deciding whether the hair should be pinned up or left down.
Lyra herself just snorted quietly, knowing that others didn't know that this marriage was against her will.
The lady chose down, so she felt her hair fall gracefully to her mid back, the ends ticking her just under her shoulder blades. "By the way, I'm Kris, Master Silver's assistant. Because you'll be marrying him today, I'll also be your aid. Feel free to call me whenever you find you need any help."
The former trainer just nodded. "Oh, and also, I was told you need to wear this." The almond-eyed girl glanced over her shoulder to where Kris was, seeing the woman holding a garter.
All color drained from her everywhere.
"I'm not wearing that," she hissed, the entire sentence coming out just like a snake's intimidating, but soft, sound. The assistant turned her head, perking up her ears. "What was that, Miss Lyra? I can't hear you."
"I'm not wearing that!" she said a little louder, still a bit hard for the woman to hear. But she got the gist of what was said. "Unfortunately, I've been ordered to make you wear this. If you don't, we'll both be scolded."
The bride groaned and waited until she got closer to take it out of her hand, putting it on herself. 'This is ridiculous. Not only am I just some figure for appearance's sake, but I'm also some kind of sex toy.' She flinched a little at the thought though, those last two words cutting her deep.
There were just some memories that were better left suppressed.
She was helped into the dress, being careful not to get her hair caught in the small mayhem. When it was on, she went to the full-length mirror near the vanity.
The wedding dress Silver had chosen for her had one strap that went onto her left shoulder, an elaborate white flower perched at the collarbone. The mid-section of the dress fit her form perfectly, the smooth cloth accentuating the curves she had. At the waist, the dress turned into a flowing river of material, the train trailing out a few feet behind her.
She hated to admit it, but the dress was beautiful. Kris finished prepping her by adding the veil on top of her head. "Okay, all set, Miss Lyra! Have fun!" She grinned and stole one last glance at the wife-to-be before she disappeared.
The timid girl went back to the vanity, sitting down at peering at herself in the mirror, scowling at her appearance. If she was getting married to who she wanted to, she would have been as giddy as all the other women in the mansion, squealing with delight to see a young girl getting married to "the love of her life."
But today was a death sentence. Today marked the day where she lost all freedom, all dignity, all hopes, all dreams.
All life.
She would become nothing but an empty shell of herself, just an item to her soon-to-be husband. And he didn't even really want her. He just wanted revenge.
Lyra was glad she opted for no make-up, as she began to sob, her emotions welling up inside of her. For the entire week, she stayed emotionless, closing herself off to anyone that attempted to interact with her. In all honesty, the shock hadn't hit her yet. But now, reality had finally set in, crashing down on her weak, feeble body.
She grabbed a tissue from the box that was on the vanity, only allowing herself just a few minutes of grievance. Once her tears were cleaned up and her eyes showed little evidence of the crying she did, she gathered the skirt of the dress in her hands, walking out of the room.
On the floor she was on, the third floor of the mansion, there was hardly a human in sight. Not much occurred, all the hustle and bustle going on on the ground floor. The noises of preparation floated up and around the building: there was the shouting of orders, the crash of utensils falling, the squeak of quick-moving shoes, and the low whispers of gossip.
Glad to have this moment of loneliness, she floated along the floor, deciding to investigate around. There was an abundance of closed doors. Her own room, the one that she was given temporarily, was merely a guest room, so she assumed that these were probably the same, or maybe the servants' rooms.
Since there wasn't much to see on this floor, she wandered down to the second level, seeing what she could there. On this level, she found an expansive meeting room, a few more spare rooms, and what appeared to be an entertainment room. It had a couple of couches and a counter. Further investigation exposed that there was a mini-bar in the room, along with a few other things for food and drinks. There was also a projector that was turned on, but not playing anything, and a rotisserie, some hot dog wieners rolling around on it.
Someone had been in here recently.
Reluctantly stepping down the grand staircase now to get to the first floor, she hid behind a pillar until the coast was clear. Scuttling off in a random direction that seemed to be empty, she walked until she came upon two huge, heavy double doors. Looking around tentatively, she turned the handles and pulled, finding that it was unlocked. She opened the doors just wide enough for her to slip through, gasping when she saw what was inside.
An ebony grand piano.
She walked gracefully up to it, lifting the fall and pressing a few keys to see if it was in tune. Ecstatic to find that it was, she lifted the lid, putting up the prop and taking a seat at the piano bench.
Her hands hovered over the keys before she decided on a piece that described exactly how she felt.
Using the foot pedals to further amplify her emotions and the sound, she played passionately, the music floating out of her fingers and through the slightly opened door.
Those that were helping set up heard the pounding of the keys, pausing in their tracks at the sound. "Isn't the only piano in here the one that..."
"Yes. I thought everyone knew that they aren't—"
Everyone silenced themselves and went back to work when they saw the master of the manor storming across the foyer to reach the room where the piano was located.
Lyra's playing was abruptly interrupted by Silver yanking her hands off of the keys, slamming the fall down. "What do you think you're doing!"
"I was—I was just—"
"Don't you ever touch this piano again, do you hear me! You're not at liberty to do as you please! Don't touch things that don't belong to you!"
She backed way from him, closing her eyes tight and waiting for the onslaught to end.
"Master Silver, Master Silver! Calm down! She had no idea that she wasn't supposed to touch it! And it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!"
He stopped shouting at her to see his attendant that came to the bride's rescue. He glared at the almond-eyed girl for a good, long moment before huffing, briskly walking past his assistant out of the room.
"Are you alright?" Kris asked the scarred girl. She nodded hesitantly, though there were tears in the corner of her eyes.
"You poor thing. You didn't deserve to have him yell at you like that. And he's supposed to be your husband in just a few hours!" She shook her head, taking one of the girl's hands and holding it in between hers. "But he gets irrationally upset when anyone touches this piano. This is an heirloom from his grandfather, who was closer to him than anyone else. He was the one that taught Master Silver how to play, but ever since his grandfather passed away, he hasn't touched it since."
The bride looked down at her held hand, making it obvious that she felt rather guilty. "It's okay, don't feel bad. You didn't know." Her shoulder was rubbed. "Remember, I'm here for you."
"Th-thank you, I guess," she murmured, gently taking her hand back and grabbing the skirt of her dress, standing up.
As the girl fled, Kris watched, shaking her head. "She's a shy one. Poor thing won't last very long..."
. ~ .
The music signifying the beginning of the wedding may as well have been the start of a funeral precession. The minute she heard the organ play its first note, she knew she was doomed.
A voice in the back of her head questioned, "How did they get an organ in here in the first place?"
But it was just better for everyone if you didn't question rich people.
Instead of walking down the aisle with her father, whom she didn't even know, she was forced to walk with a well-dressed, but no less intimidating, Feraligatr. And she knew it was his.
Her and her pokémon had encountered this beast quite a few times way back when.
As she moved step by step, which was the tradition, she heard a sharp gasp, then a few short, surprised murmurs.
She didn't want to look up from the bouquet in her hands, but the voices sounded familiar to her. Risking it, she glanced around, feeling as if time had frozen when she saw her friends.
And her mother.
Their eyes met for just a second before she had to look away. She knew they would try to find her during the reception.
She made a note to herself to avoid them at all costs.
When she finally made it to where Silver stood waiting for her, she attempted to look happy, or, at least, content. Time seemed to drag on as the vows were said. When he had to put the ring on her finger, she wanted to yank her hand away from his, the touch icy and not at all welcoming.
Once time time for "I do"s came around, though, time paused itself again. She took a mental snapshot of this moment, remembering it as the start of her life of hell.
She was the only one stuck in this pause though, for the celebrant had to call her name a few times. "Lyra? Lyra?"
"Hm? O-oh, uhm... I-I...," she clenched her jaw for a moment, her eyes shut tight.
She could feel Silver's piercing gaze on her. If she prolonged this anymore, she was sure the consequences would be dire.
"I do."
"Then you may kiss the bride."
After her veil was lifted, his lips found their way to hers. She tried not to protest and scream when he put an arm around her waist, pulling her closer and forcing his tongue into her mouth.
Those unassociated with her started to clap and holler, making up for those that weren't.
She was much more than thankful when the kiss finally broke.
When the reception began, there was chatter aplenty, people split up into their little cliques.
Lyra herself had tried to run off somewhere to get away, but Silver had basically hand-cuffed her to himself, forcing her to follow him around everywhere. At least he was the one doing all the talking.
Obliged to listen to these conversations, she discovered that Giovanni had become terminally ill and he didn't have much longer to live. He knew his son would be quick to jump on everything he owned, so he came up with the condition that, if his son got married before he passed on, he would willingly give all of his properties to his son.
She didn't know who she hated more: Giovanni for coming up with the stupid condition, or his son for choosing her to marry.
She was pretty certain she would have chosen her now-husband if asked, though.
As they were waltzing around from group to group, her mother managed to track her down. "Lyra! Oh, my lyre!" She was locked in a lung-crushing embrace, unable to move as her mom pulled her away from the redhead. "I though I'd never see you again after what happened in New Bark... and then I get this fancy letter in the mail, telling me I was invited to a wedding..."
She trailed off when she saw her daughter's husband eying them carefully, daring his new in-law to speak out of line. "Did you willingly marry him," she whispered, moving close to her child's ear so only they could hear anything, glaring right back at the boy as she did.
She shook her head no, an exasperated look on her face. Her back was to the groom, so he couldn't see the misery on her face. "He's just marrying me so he can get his dad's properties," she whispered back, holding tight to her mother, feeling tears prick her eyes.
Just as her mother was about to respond, Lyra saw Ethan jogging up to them.
And so did Silver.
"There's a few other people we need to see," the redhead lied, grabbing her arm and snatching her away from her mother.
She glanced over her shoulder, seeing her desperate-looking friend stand next to her only parent, both sharing the same helpless expression.
. ~ .
'I should have figured that this would be the fourth floor,' Lyra thought when she was dragged up there later that evening.
She was alone for the time being, since Silver had run off to do something. Taking this moment to relax a little, she pulled the veil off of her head and tossed it onto a chair, also slipping off the heels she was wearing. Sighing, she walked over to the windowed door on the far side of the room, opening them and closing her eyes, embracing the wind that whipped around and licked her body.
Reopening her eyes, she could see the city of Goldenrod not too far off. The city lights made it seem like grounded stars surrounded by greenery, to make up for the lack of stars she could see in the navy sky.
She glanced behind her when she heard the room door open, scowling inwardly when she saw who it was.
Though she shouldn't have expected anyone else.
"Close those doors," he ordered. She begrudgingly obliged.
"Come here."
'Great, I've also become a Growlithe. Why did I expect any less?' She stumbled over the skirt of the dress, catching herself before she hit the floor.
He laughed.
She walked the rest of the distance with what little dignity she had left.
When she reached him, he lifted her up bridal-style and dumped her onto the bed. Before she could even attempt to escape, he gathered her wrists in one hand and started to pull off her dress with the other.
Her screams came out as weak pants instead, her vocal chords unable to handle that kind of strain. She struggled valiantly, but she wasn't strong enough to fight him off.
He kicked the dress off of the bed, his hand reaching for the garter on her though she had been practically threatened to wear.
Her opposing body stopped moving, her chest visibly rising and falling from the effort she made, her breathing heavy. It was no use. He was going to do whatever he wanted to her and there was nothing she could do about it. Especially now.
Sensing she had given up, he let go of her wrists, staring down at her. He hid the questioning expression he would have worn, but he didn't do a good job of hiding it in his maroon eyes.
"Just—just please be gentle," she said softly, her voice also wavering. She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, waiting for him to continue.
There was a short moment of silence, her breathing and racing heart the only things able to be heard.
"Ugh, forget it," he said, suddenly sounding repulsed. After he pulled the garter off of her, he flopped to her left, letting her go free. "It's no fun when you give up. And all I really wanted to do was see your terrified face. Go change."
She skittered off of the bed and into the bathroom, putting her back against the door once she was inside. She had a hand over her heart and she took a peek at herself in the mirror. Her face was splotched with red, the way it always looked when she was ready for a breakdown.
Lyra splashed her face with cool water, feeling her complexion was overheating. After she changed into the nightgown she found hanging near the bathtub, she walked out to see him twirling the garter around on his finger with one hand, the other folded under his head, staring up at the cloth.
All too reluctant, she got into the bed beside him, but with her back facing him.
She felt the bed shake a little as he got up, hearing his feet shuffle across the floor and a door close.
When he returned, she was only partially surprised when he grabbed her waist, pulling her to him. "We're seeing Giovanni tomorrow. Stay quiet like you always are and if he asks you anything, answer appropriately and don't give him too much information."
She nodded, grimacing at how she could feel his body pressed up against her back. At least they had clothes on.
Minutes ticked by, his breathing ruffling her hair every other second. The ticklish feeling reminded her of a day not too long ago when she found herself in almost the same exact position.
How great it would be to turn back time.
When his breathing steadied and his hold on her grew weak, she slowly turned herself around, gazing up at his cleared face. "He almost looks harmless... likable." She chuckled dryly at her comment, knowing he was the farthest thing from it.
Carefully lifting his arm, she gave it back to him, inching her way off of the bed. Once her feet lightly touched the floor, she tiptoed to the room door, opening it and closing it quietly. She breathed deeply, flitting off to the ground floor.
Coupled with her long, auburn hair and silky, cream nightgown, she appeared as a ghost, gliding quickly across the smooth marble. The few servants that were still up and working spotted her, unsure of whether she was truly an apparition, a figment of their imagination. By the time they blinked and rubbed their eyes to be sure, she had already moved on.
It was harder to remember where everything was when it was all illuminated in dim lighting. Soft-light nightlights had been placed every few feet into the outlets, in case anyone needed to walk around. Because the place wasn't as visible and she wasn't all that familiar with the layout, it took her a few times of trial and error for her to reach the room she was looking for.
The piano room.
The delicate structure looked even more beautiful in the night, a high window in the room letting it bask in moonlight. She took her time walking up to it, the nagging voice in her head telling her she wasn't supposed to be here pushed to the back of her mind. The louder voice was all she heard, the one that coaxed her into coming here in the first place.
She hadn't touched a piano in years before that morning and, now that she knew one was here, her fingers itched to feel the hard, smooth keys underneath them.
She could care less if Silver ripped out her throat this time. It wasn't as grand of a method of revenge as his was, but it was good enough for her if it ticked him off.
And Lyra had a really strong desire to play.
The lid was still propped up from earlier, so all she needed to do was sit down and lift the fall. She closed her eyes and thought of a different piece to play, her fingers hovering over the keys as they usually did when this occurred.
Hesitantly, she pressed down on the keys gently, letting the first not of the composition ring out and resonate throughout the entire manor, the other notes following fluidly after.
The one she chose was solemn but peaceful this time, expressing her inner feelings, speaking for her since her own voice always seemed to fail her.
Those awake and listening murmured amongst themselves, theorizing that it was probably the "ghost" from earlier performing.
When she finished, she folded her hands in her lap, holding down the foot pedal that allowed her to hold the last note as long as she wanted, a fermata.
She slid her foot off eventually, not looking at the door which had opened just a few moments ago.
"Weren't you told not to come back in here?"
She studied the black and white keys in front of her, bracing herself for whatever would come next.
"What's compelling you to return here! I specifically told you not to touch what isn't yours! Are those instructions too hard for you to follow! Do I have to chain you down to get you to stay away!" He slammed a hand down on the piano, producing a sour sound, causing her to jump.
She took a chance to glance at him, seeing that his other hand was balled into a fist. Slowly lifting her head, she stared up at Silver, who seemed to be contemplating something, jaw clenched in anger and frustration. When he caught her staring at him out of the corner of his eye, he faced her.
She shrunk away from his gaze, that worried, fearful expression plastered onto her face again.
"Get out," he said gruffly, looking away from her again.
She hurriedly scrambled to her feet, fleeing out of the room. But when she thought over something, she gradually came to a stop, looking back at the doors she ran away from.
Lyra hadn't seen it very clearly and she was pretty sure she had hallucinated, but when she had shied away from his cold stare, she thought she saw a moment of hurt in his eyes, the pitiful emotion disappearing as quickly as it had come.
Noticing that he was still in the room, not following after her, she returned to the door, peeking through the crack to watch him.
. ~ .
Silver watched as the girl left, sensing she seemed a little more than appreciative to get away from him. Shaking his head and sitting on the bench, he looked down at the piano, mentally seeing which keys she had pressed.
He knew the composition she chose. It was the last piece his grandfather had taught him before he passed.
'That was ten years ago...' A whole decade since he had touched these keys, since he had played even the simplest of songs.
Since he had played that piece that meant the most to him.
And his wife just played it seconds ago, as if it were a measly four notes sloppily applied to a staff.
'That composition... it had a reprise, didn't it?' Thinking on it, he faintly remembered his grandfather playing it for him, the reprise being the next thing he was going to learn next.
But his motivation died with his dear family member.
'He left the score somewhere here... he always left them with me... maybe it's...' He stood up and lifted the cushion of the bench, seeing the aged piles of papers inside. He began digging through them until he found what he was looking for.
The Ostinato.
He placed the score upon the music rack, reading the notes and murmuring to himself which finger hit which key. His hands floated above them, ready to play.
When he tried to begin, he started off wrong. Retrying a few times, he only got the first few measures of the piece before he kept hitting the wrong notes. He was rusty.
He couldn't do it.
With his frustrations growing, he slammed the fall down like he had that morning, swiping at the score to let the sheets fall to the ground in a scattered mess.
"Fuck this shit!" He shouted, getting up hastily and stomping to the door. He was too enraged and focused on his failure to hear the patter of feet fleeing.
As the doors banged shut behind him, a gust of wind rustled the papers, the loose leaves being brought just a little closer together.
A/N: Pianos are srs bznz, you guys.