She wandered the halls, so big, ornate with patterned carpets and tastefully old-fashioned wallpaper. The manor house was magnificent; Tifa imagined walking these halls every day, what would it be like to have a maid? Someone who would cook and clean for her... But what would she do? The idea seemed so alien to her at once and she brushed it away. Fingers tracing the walls lightly under her silky gloves, she turned a corner past a bust of some famous poet, whispering the inscription thoughtlessly.
"If music be the food of love..."
Tifa paused, the swish of her dress suddenly silent.
Her fingers felt no purchase where before they had touched wall, now only thin air. A glance to her side told of a door open ajar, and through that gap, though only seen by a dark slice of vision, Tifa recognised the shining black wood of a piano.
Her breath drew in suddenly and she impulsively pushed the door open to find the room empty, and the beautiful piano- a grand, so magnificent- set against the framework of large French doors. The night outside, dotted with delicate spotlights, spread out behind it gave the room a soft glow. However, it was the moon that lit the room and reflected its salient light off the glossed wood of the piano. The singular instrument, the singular room, the singular Tifa and the singular moon all converged to create such an air of sympathetic loneliness that Tifa's heart swelled a little and she swish-swish-swished towards it in her fine gown.
Softly, she settled on the velvet stool. The lid neither rose with creak nor compliant, and Tifa brushed the keys lightly with her fingers. The ivories bowed gently to her touch, begging to be played. Slowly, hesitantly, she pulled off her gloves and felt the cool keys beneath her fingers begin to resonate hushed tones at her gentle touch. Encouraged, the sounds grew louder and more playful as Tifa delighted in the arresting instrument. Beautiful tones issued out as music came back to her, flowing through her consciousness and down her arms and out her fingertips; a scale, a tango, a waltz. A pink room. A small child playing do re mi fa so... a town bell, a fire, a sharp pain cutting through her chest, and the great ache of loss. Suddenly stiff fingers faltered on the melody, creaking to a stop. And then hesitantly started again on sombre tunes, slow chords building up once again into melodies and harmony.
A presence was behind her, she knew by the way a familiar heat ran up her spine and her heart pulled at her back, demanding she turn to face him. Fingers slipped and the tune came to a faltering halt again, head bent and refusing to greet him- although her silence acknowledged him. Today, of all days, he could break the hush that so often enveloped the both of them.
The silence thickened the air, and lasted an immeasurable amount of time as neither of them moved to make a sound though Tifa could hear him fidgeting, playing with his cuff links nervously. She remained still, like a stone. For was her heart not now frozen like marble? His was alive with love, beating the life-blood though his veins and so he could fiddle and squirm all he likes. She felt as rock looks; dead. Should she not act like one too? Silent and unmoving, she simply breathed and waited. Eventually, after an eternity of listen to him lingering behind her, he moved, took a step forward and drew a tentative breath. Then retracted and removed himself from the room, leaving Tifa with nothing but a sigh and the piano's black and white smile. As soon as the door shut she flew to the keys with alacrity and jumped straight into a passionate prelude; forte, rapido, anger flowing from her fingertips to the piano who expressed her emotions with beautiful clarity. The loud, fervent song bounced off walls and shook the quiet atmosphere quite from the room.
She knew the music resonated through sensitive ears; with bitter strokes she wished it would ever pierce that oblivious heart.