Yikes, late update. Here's the next chapter...
------------------------------
Kathy walked away from the dueling room in a state of shock. It was all true... Amazing... Horrific...
She shuddered. After that, after watching that, she couldn't believe that she had blushed when she saw his face... abominable... How could he...
She felt sick, and sank into a seat along one of the many hallways. Stealing souls. Never in a million years would she have believed it, not until she had seen it with her own eyes. Seeing nobody around, she buried her face in her hands in an attempt to alleviate the nausea.
Moments later she heard footsteps in the hallway, coming her way, and prayed they would just pass on by so she could think about everything, but they slowed and stopped in front of her.
"Why, Miss Kathy," came his smooth voice, "are you alright?"
Oh, no. Of all people. Not now, not now...
"Yes, sir," she muttered into her hands.
"I can see something is troubling you, and it's the least I can do for my niece to help out her friend."
Kathy didn't answer. She should have asked him to leave her alone, and deep down she knew that if she didn't, he would stay and talk to her, for she was his favorite relative's friend. And yet... she kept thinking about the girl who's portrait hung on the wall, and perhaps it was the little voice inside her that was a complete sucker for romance that held back her voice, or maybe the way he drew back after a moment.
"You saw the duel, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question, and there was restrained, irrational anger burning in every word.
"I did," she managed. "And so did Aislinn."
No response came back, and when she looked up, he was gone.
****
The ballroom was somewhat ovular, with a high ceiling from which a chandelier hung, and an atmosphere of grandeur. It wasn't as fancy as the ballroom of the old mansion where they used to play and scare guests and get into trouble, but it was airy and beautiful. Even the air seemed to sparkle in this peaceful place, and she imagined she could hear the ghostly echoes of old concertos played here. Aislinn once again imagined herself a princess, stepping to the beat of a waltz with an imaginary prince, gliding over the floor with steps she had not stepped in a very long time.
After a time she began to feel silly dancing by herself despite her mood, so she took an inventory of the objects, hoping for a violin. What she did see, on a raised platform meant for a stage, was a lovely, black grand piano, gleaming in the chandelier light. It had been so long since she had played on anything other than a keyboard or lousy, clunky stand-up, and her fingers itched and cried to run over the invitingly white ivory. How could one resist? Entranced in a dream of finery, she gracefully climbed onto the stage, finding a book of classical pieces waiting on the cushioned seat. Delicately, carefully, she turned to a piece she had known and loved by Mozart, set it on the stand, and began to play. Oh, it was wonderful, wonderful, there in the ballroom, the chandelier sparkling, the grand's clear notes ringing harmony and comfort, softening the blows of the world around, sharpening, clarifying, and explaining every thought and dream.
She thought about her brother Talon and the way he was ruining her life, taking from her all she loved and knew, keeping her down toward bankruptcy. The thought brought pain to her heart, and she played into the pain and panic. It will be okay, whispered the music, your uncle will come through. He loves you yet, you'll see. It brought a smile to her face and tears to the corners of her eyes.
Eventually the song finished, but Aislinn's soul was not satisfied yet. Eagerly, she turned the page, and found a piano/violin duet, and gasped. It was a duet that she had learned to play with her uncle, hoping to perform it at a banquet sometime. The violin part was difficult, and it had taken her uncle a long time to learn it. Too long. They had practiced together but once before she was forbidden to see him, on a warm spring morning just days before the wedding. Excitement was ringing in the air, and her uncle was having difficulty concentrating on anything, so Aislinn, amused at his uncharacteristically short attention span, suggested they play music together to give the extra energy an outlet and to pass the time more quickly. It worked. They had played from about noon until sundown, different pieces, until her uncle suggested they give the duet a whirl. It hadn't gone terribly well, but they had a good laugh and parted happily. In fact, that had been the last time she had seen him at all. Until now.
Shaking, she began to work out the notes, trying to regain control of emotions. It was stiff and clumsy. She stopped. Alright. This song is in memory of my dear uncle, and those days of peace.
Without restraint, she began again, and this time her body swayed to her emotions and she let them pour out into her fingertips the way she let them reign her violin. The notes swelled and tumbled, and she wrapped herself in them until she could almost hear the violin singing the melody. No, she could hear a violin. Tears began to run down her cheeks, and she backed off a little to let the violin melody soar through. Instead of the gentle, passionate, clumsy notes she remembered hearing, the line was perfect and restrained. Perfect. The result of many, many hours of practice. Had he missed her, during those times? Had he thought of his niece? Did he forget for the slightest moment the pain in his heart? Then she thought about the restraint and precision of the notes, and she knew that he had not let his soul enter the music to be comforted. He tried to draw comfort from the music, instead of letting go, letting his pain and sorrow leak into the river of melody. He had bottled it up, tried to kill it, but now it was killing him, eating and eating at the light at his core until he would have nothing left but a shell, a shell of darkness...
The last note died away to nothingness.
Nothing moved for a long time.
He spoke first. "Lovely, my dear niece. Nobody could play like you do."
She turned and smiled at him; he still held the violin in his hands. "To express my gratitude for that undeserving remark, uncle, I shall critique your performance: it was perfect."
He chuckled. "But...?"
She let her smile fade, and fixed him with a stare that she hoped looked hopefully compassionate. "But you had no emotion in it, and so it was dead."
"Are the acoustics to your liking?" he asked, shunting aside her implicit question.
"The reverberation is odd, the way this ceiling and these walls are built, but it is pleasant enough."
"Ah, accept nothing but the best, I see." Chuckling, he pulled a bottle of wine out of a nearby cabinet with two glasses. "It must be a while since you've tasted good wine, yes? I apologize for not offering earlier, but I know you never used to drink anything in the morning. I believe this is a favorite of yours, as well."
"Thank you, you have remembered," she said, accepting the glass he poured, and they silently toasted nothing at all. It was an old ritual and Aislinn couldn't remember how it had started, but they always gave a silent toast when pouring a glass in the ballroom.
A grin softened his features and an excitement she recognized from the old days shone in his eyes, a secret which he knew she would love. At the edges of her heart a little tiny bead of hope formed. Maybe everything could yet be healed. "Perhaps this would interest you," he said, walking over to a table and unlocking a drawer. Inside the drawer was a little remote, and he pressed a button, then walked over to the piano, beckoning silence with a gesture.
"You always liked Canterbury's echo, didn't you?" he whispered eagerly in her ear. "So, play now."
So she did. The first few notes of Cannon in D came back to her ears like they had traveled down the nave and back, almost perfectly imitating a cathedral reverb. Almost. **
"Isn't it wonderful?" he laughed, a child enjoying a summer's day at the beach or the wonder of a comet for the first time, so full of wonder and awe and beauty... It was the first time since they had parted that she had seen such in his eyes, and her stomach twisted. "There are so many settings to choose from! See, there are microphones-" he saw her face and stopped.
"Why, whatever is the matter?"
"I... I can't believe you'd do something like this..." she started, feeling the pity and the anguish of things lost and the anger towards fate mixing into a black stormcloud within her that could not be held back.
"You never would have done this in the old days..." stop! A voice cried inside her, He'll be lost again to you if you do this now, if you are too harsh! But it was too late, the words were pouring out of here.
"All this.. falsity! You would have hated it! You would have built your own cathedral room just to hear the echo! Not installed this... this mechanical... imitation!"
His face was a mask of horror.
She spotted something lying on the table.
"What's that?"
Horror faded, replaced by a coldness which hurt her more. "It is a comic book." Poison dripped from every word. "I find it amusing, niece. Perhaps you will as well, or perhaps you'll find it...false."
"This isn't you, uncle," she pleaded, aching from his cold manner, trying to use what could never be taken back. Might as well run with it. "What happened to the old days, when we laughed and sang and enjoyed life together? I don't even know who you are now!" True anger and frustration, building since her arrival, fuelled her voice. Blood rose to her cheeks, the wine soured in her mouth, memories clouded her eyes, and all she knew was that she felt in that blood the shame he had laid on her, tasted in her mouth the filth of his deeds, and only the memories remained pure. And at that moment, she hated him. "And what is this?" she shouted, grabbing the wine glass from his fingers as he was lifting it to his lips somewhat nervously. "Oh, I see," she seethed, seeing red, "you haven't had any since morning, have you, you've been too busy, and now you need it, every cell in your body is screaming for it-"
"-Aislinn-" he gasped, genuinely astonished.
"You need this, but you aren't going to get it, because you're destroying yourself! I won't let you anymore!"
"Aislinn," he stammered, for the first time losing control and the pain shone through, hot and desperate, in his eyes. "Aislinn, please I have a duel this evening-- I must win, Aislinn, please--don't--don't--just--"
"What, can't come up with something quick enough?! Can't think of anything to replace what you began to say, 'Aislinn, give me that wine?' " She held it over her head, ready to drop it to the ground and let it spill over the floor.
"Please, please tell me what the matter is, so I can help! Uncle, are you listening to me?! Don't let your pain consume you, let me help you!"
She dropped the glass. It shattered on the hard floor, a pool of red liquid like the blood of murdered love.
He spun away from her, shaking violently, gripping the wine bottle as though it alone held him to reality, and then froze for a long moment. When he faced her again, slowly, he was cold, poised, and stiff with icy fury that smoldered dangerously in hard, sober eyes. "You know nothing of this hell I endure," he hissed. "Leave me be."
Shakily, Aislinn took another, long sip of wine as the reverb echoed his words like menacing voices of shadow-dwelling demons as her uncle strode stiffly from the room.
*********
As she walked out of the ballroom in a bit of a fog from the wine, Aislinn passed a glass chess set. She carefully picked up the bishop and pushed it on its side with a laugh. "Your fou," she whispered. ****
_______________
** This is an actual device. The one I am acquainted with is a box-like portable room that can hold several people, has glass walls, and has several buttons along the side that is not transparent. Want a cathedral echo? A stadium? Simply press the button for whatever reverb you want, and you've got it. It's really very cool.
****it's French. Look it up.
------------------------------
Kathy walked away from the dueling room in a state of shock. It was all true... Amazing... Horrific...
She shuddered. After that, after watching that, she couldn't believe that she had blushed when she saw his face... abominable... How could he...
She felt sick, and sank into a seat along one of the many hallways. Stealing souls. Never in a million years would she have believed it, not until she had seen it with her own eyes. Seeing nobody around, she buried her face in her hands in an attempt to alleviate the nausea.
Moments later she heard footsteps in the hallway, coming her way, and prayed they would just pass on by so she could think about everything, but they slowed and stopped in front of her.
"Why, Miss Kathy," came his smooth voice, "are you alright?"
Oh, no. Of all people. Not now, not now...
"Yes, sir," she muttered into her hands.
"I can see something is troubling you, and it's the least I can do for my niece to help out her friend."
Kathy didn't answer. She should have asked him to leave her alone, and deep down she knew that if she didn't, he would stay and talk to her, for she was his favorite relative's friend. And yet... she kept thinking about the girl who's portrait hung on the wall, and perhaps it was the little voice inside her that was a complete sucker for romance that held back her voice, or maybe the way he drew back after a moment.
"You saw the duel, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question, and there was restrained, irrational anger burning in every word.
"I did," she managed. "And so did Aislinn."
No response came back, and when she looked up, he was gone.
****
The ballroom was somewhat ovular, with a high ceiling from which a chandelier hung, and an atmosphere of grandeur. It wasn't as fancy as the ballroom of the old mansion where they used to play and scare guests and get into trouble, but it was airy and beautiful. Even the air seemed to sparkle in this peaceful place, and she imagined she could hear the ghostly echoes of old concertos played here. Aislinn once again imagined herself a princess, stepping to the beat of a waltz with an imaginary prince, gliding over the floor with steps she had not stepped in a very long time.
After a time she began to feel silly dancing by herself despite her mood, so she took an inventory of the objects, hoping for a violin. What she did see, on a raised platform meant for a stage, was a lovely, black grand piano, gleaming in the chandelier light. It had been so long since she had played on anything other than a keyboard or lousy, clunky stand-up, and her fingers itched and cried to run over the invitingly white ivory. How could one resist? Entranced in a dream of finery, she gracefully climbed onto the stage, finding a book of classical pieces waiting on the cushioned seat. Delicately, carefully, she turned to a piece she had known and loved by Mozart, set it on the stand, and began to play. Oh, it was wonderful, wonderful, there in the ballroom, the chandelier sparkling, the grand's clear notes ringing harmony and comfort, softening the blows of the world around, sharpening, clarifying, and explaining every thought and dream.
She thought about her brother Talon and the way he was ruining her life, taking from her all she loved and knew, keeping her down toward bankruptcy. The thought brought pain to her heart, and she played into the pain and panic. It will be okay, whispered the music, your uncle will come through. He loves you yet, you'll see. It brought a smile to her face and tears to the corners of her eyes.
Eventually the song finished, but Aislinn's soul was not satisfied yet. Eagerly, she turned the page, and found a piano/violin duet, and gasped. It was a duet that she had learned to play with her uncle, hoping to perform it at a banquet sometime. The violin part was difficult, and it had taken her uncle a long time to learn it. Too long. They had practiced together but once before she was forbidden to see him, on a warm spring morning just days before the wedding. Excitement was ringing in the air, and her uncle was having difficulty concentrating on anything, so Aislinn, amused at his uncharacteristically short attention span, suggested they play music together to give the extra energy an outlet and to pass the time more quickly. It worked. They had played from about noon until sundown, different pieces, until her uncle suggested they give the duet a whirl. It hadn't gone terribly well, but they had a good laugh and parted happily. In fact, that had been the last time she had seen him at all. Until now.
Shaking, she began to work out the notes, trying to regain control of emotions. It was stiff and clumsy. She stopped. Alright. This song is in memory of my dear uncle, and those days of peace.
Without restraint, she began again, and this time her body swayed to her emotions and she let them pour out into her fingertips the way she let them reign her violin. The notes swelled and tumbled, and she wrapped herself in them until she could almost hear the violin singing the melody. No, she could hear a violin. Tears began to run down her cheeks, and she backed off a little to let the violin melody soar through. Instead of the gentle, passionate, clumsy notes she remembered hearing, the line was perfect and restrained. Perfect. The result of many, many hours of practice. Had he missed her, during those times? Had he thought of his niece? Did he forget for the slightest moment the pain in his heart? Then she thought about the restraint and precision of the notes, and she knew that he had not let his soul enter the music to be comforted. He tried to draw comfort from the music, instead of letting go, letting his pain and sorrow leak into the river of melody. He had bottled it up, tried to kill it, but now it was killing him, eating and eating at the light at his core until he would have nothing left but a shell, a shell of darkness...
The last note died away to nothingness.
Nothing moved for a long time.
He spoke first. "Lovely, my dear niece. Nobody could play like you do."
She turned and smiled at him; he still held the violin in his hands. "To express my gratitude for that undeserving remark, uncle, I shall critique your performance: it was perfect."
He chuckled. "But...?"
She let her smile fade, and fixed him with a stare that she hoped looked hopefully compassionate. "But you had no emotion in it, and so it was dead."
"Are the acoustics to your liking?" he asked, shunting aside her implicit question.
"The reverberation is odd, the way this ceiling and these walls are built, but it is pleasant enough."
"Ah, accept nothing but the best, I see." Chuckling, he pulled a bottle of wine out of a nearby cabinet with two glasses. "It must be a while since you've tasted good wine, yes? I apologize for not offering earlier, but I know you never used to drink anything in the morning. I believe this is a favorite of yours, as well."
"Thank you, you have remembered," she said, accepting the glass he poured, and they silently toasted nothing at all. It was an old ritual and Aislinn couldn't remember how it had started, but they always gave a silent toast when pouring a glass in the ballroom.
A grin softened his features and an excitement she recognized from the old days shone in his eyes, a secret which he knew she would love. At the edges of her heart a little tiny bead of hope formed. Maybe everything could yet be healed. "Perhaps this would interest you," he said, walking over to a table and unlocking a drawer. Inside the drawer was a little remote, and he pressed a button, then walked over to the piano, beckoning silence with a gesture.
"You always liked Canterbury's echo, didn't you?" he whispered eagerly in her ear. "So, play now."
So she did. The first few notes of Cannon in D came back to her ears like they had traveled down the nave and back, almost perfectly imitating a cathedral reverb. Almost. **
"Isn't it wonderful?" he laughed, a child enjoying a summer's day at the beach or the wonder of a comet for the first time, so full of wonder and awe and beauty... It was the first time since they had parted that she had seen such in his eyes, and her stomach twisted. "There are so many settings to choose from! See, there are microphones-" he saw her face and stopped.
"Why, whatever is the matter?"
"I... I can't believe you'd do something like this..." she started, feeling the pity and the anguish of things lost and the anger towards fate mixing into a black stormcloud within her that could not be held back.
"You never would have done this in the old days..." stop! A voice cried inside her, He'll be lost again to you if you do this now, if you are too harsh! But it was too late, the words were pouring out of here.
"All this.. falsity! You would have hated it! You would have built your own cathedral room just to hear the echo! Not installed this... this mechanical... imitation!"
His face was a mask of horror.
She spotted something lying on the table.
"What's that?"
Horror faded, replaced by a coldness which hurt her more. "It is a comic book." Poison dripped from every word. "I find it amusing, niece. Perhaps you will as well, or perhaps you'll find it...false."
"This isn't you, uncle," she pleaded, aching from his cold manner, trying to use what could never be taken back. Might as well run with it. "What happened to the old days, when we laughed and sang and enjoyed life together? I don't even know who you are now!" True anger and frustration, building since her arrival, fuelled her voice. Blood rose to her cheeks, the wine soured in her mouth, memories clouded her eyes, and all she knew was that she felt in that blood the shame he had laid on her, tasted in her mouth the filth of his deeds, and only the memories remained pure. And at that moment, she hated him. "And what is this?" she shouted, grabbing the wine glass from his fingers as he was lifting it to his lips somewhat nervously. "Oh, I see," she seethed, seeing red, "you haven't had any since morning, have you, you've been too busy, and now you need it, every cell in your body is screaming for it-"
"-Aislinn-" he gasped, genuinely astonished.
"You need this, but you aren't going to get it, because you're destroying yourself! I won't let you anymore!"
"Aislinn," he stammered, for the first time losing control and the pain shone through, hot and desperate, in his eyes. "Aislinn, please I have a duel this evening-- I must win, Aislinn, please--don't--don't--just--"
"What, can't come up with something quick enough?! Can't think of anything to replace what you began to say, 'Aislinn, give me that wine?' " She held it over her head, ready to drop it to the ground and let it spill over the floor.
"Please, please tell me what the matter is, so I can help! Uncle, are you listening to me?! Don't let your pain consume you, let me help you!"
She dropped the glass. It shattered on the hard floor, a pool of red liquid like the blood of murdered love.
He spun away from her, shaking violently, gripping the wine bottle as though it alone held him to reality, and then froze for a long moment. When he faced her again, slowly, he was cold, poised, and stiff with icy fury that smoldered dangerously in hard, sober eyes. "You know nothing of this hell I endure," he hissed. "Leave me be."
Shakily, Aislinn took another, long sip of wine as the reverb echoed his words like menacing voices of shadow-dwelling demons as her uncle strode stiffly from the room.
*********
As she walked out of the ballroom in a bit of a fog from the wine, Aislinn passed a glass chess set. She carefully picked up the bishop and pushed it on its side with a laugh. "Your fou," she whispered. ****
_______________
** This is an actual device. The one I am acquainted with is a box-like portable room that can hold several people, has glass walls, and has several buttons along the side that is not transparent. Want a cathedral echo? A stadium? Simply press the button for whatever reverb you want, and you've got it. It's really very cool.
****it's French. Look it up.