Okay, so I have no clue if this is read. The last chapter was pretty
depressing. The whole story isn't! Thanks all that read it!
A blurred face whispers things my foggy ears can't understand. Pain shoots through my body when I try to focus. I go black again.
A headache burns my thoughts. A grey mist hangs over everything. I can't focus. And everything goes black.
Warm liquid slides down my throat and stings. My throat is red and inflamed from coughing. The liquid comes back out. The world goes black.
The first thing I focus on is a male's face. Instantly I shrink away from him, and my cheeks turn as red as my throat is. At my movement he looks very relieved. Very few times before had I met another male near my age; the few males I met were elderly or youths. He hands me a bowl of broth, then leaves. I hear the door shut behind him. Before I can notice my surroundings, they go black.
"Are you feeling better?" a female voice asks me. I can tell it is the princess before I see her. Propping myself up on my elbows, I try to croak some words out, but nothing does come out. Maria Louise smiles and helps me sit. "Aurore, you have been sick for a week, I have been worried." A week? I must have been asleep most of time; I cannot remember anything after the funeral. "You must rest, adieu for now." I slide back into the bed and close my eyes hearing the door close behind her.
The morning light casts shadows across the room. Like in a dream, there is piano music. My ears seem to be filled with miasma. Shaking my head to clear my mind, I can tell the piano music is in this room. I wince as I stand and limp over to my dress. In the pocket there is the tiny flute I always carry around.
From my lips comes a lilting tune that matches the piano. Staggering towards the piano, I finally sit and join the music. The tune swirls around me like a spell by a master mage. And I am an apprentice, giving any weak magic I possess to my master and teacher. The flute is my wand and with it I can create both panoramic vistas and minute worlds. A master always learns from his apprentice just as the pupil learns from the teacher. I am not sure if I am the teacher or the student. Magic blurs the lines until one is indistinguishable from the other.
When the music stops, the sickness returns. Slowly, I continue to walk towards the piano. Nausea is at the edge of my consciousness.
"Mademoiselle, you should rest," the pianist says. I am in silent agreement; my legs want to collapse under me. Curiosity has the better of me, and I long to find out who plays piano so beautifully. Clutching my flute I lean forward and to the grand piano, letting the piano catch me. My eyes fall to the keys, where pale hands rest on them then my eyes steadily climb up to his face. It is the same the scarlet haired man that told me that I would be sick and later helped nurse me to health. Another racking cough claims me and blinds me for long moments.
"Should I?" I ask between coughs. It is only now that I notice I am wearing only a shift. My cheeks redden considerably.
"You play the flute exceptionally well. How long were you playing with me?" he inquires. I blush harder. My teachers always thought that I could be a flutist if all else failed. None of my teachers had a lot of confidence in any of my other ladylike talents. My embroidery was something to be desired and my singing was too rough.
The pianist and I are opposites, my red eyes and purple hair to his violet eyes and scarlet hair. As soon as I start coughing again, he rises immediately and catches me as I fall. I can feel him carry me before I black out.
When I wake, I can hear Maria Louise and the pianist talking and I can see the pianist. Both speak of my incurability.
I force words out of my mouth, "I am better." The words seem like lies then. I feel like I'd like to vomit. Bits of memory swirl in my head like pieces of a puzzle. The fog prevents me from piecing it all together. At my voice, both turn to look at me. With their help, I get out of bed. When the pianist leaves, Maria Louise helps me dress. While dressing me, she tells me that a physician came.
"Cousin, there is a small party in two days. Will you be able to attend?" she wonders. Looking at her straight, I nod 'yes.'
Remembering something, I ask, "Who is the male? The pianist?" He helped me recover, so I wish to know his name. "He plays piano so well." At my question, she blushes as red as my eyes. The tune he played weaves through my thoughts as it has since I heard it. As soon as the first tune starts, my flute's harmony joins the melody. The soft music lulls me.
"He is George de Sand, the man I love," she replied. The name echoes in the mist in my head. Somewhere I have heard it before, but sickness is hazy and makes me forgetful. In the depths of my mind comes the feeling of being held by George de Sand. Just the memory makes me blush even though I was mostly unconscious when it happened. I never really talked to another man near my age before I spoke to George de Sand.
A blurred face whispers things my foggy ears can't understand. Pain shoots through my body when I try to focus. I go black again.
A headache burns my thoughts. A grey mist hangs over everything. I can't focus. And everything goes black.
Warm liquid slides down my throat and stings. My throat is red and inflamed from coughing. The liquid comes back out. The world goes black.
The first thing I focus on is a male's face. Instantly I shrink away from him, and my cheeks turn as red as my throat is. At my movement he looks very relieved. Very few times before had I met another male near my age; the few males I met were elderly or youths. He hands me a bowl of broth, then leaves. I hear the door shut behind him. Before I can notice my surroundings, they go black.
"Are you feeling better?" a female voice asks me. I can tell it is the princess before I see her. Propping myself up on my elbows, I try to croak some words out, but nothing does come out. Maria Louise smiles and helps me sit. "Aurore, you have been sick for a week, I have been worried." A week? I must have been asleep most of time; I cannot remember anything after the funeral. "You must rest, adieu for now." I slide back into the bed and close my eyes hearing the door close behind her.
The morning light casts shadows across the room. Like in a dream, there is piano music. My ears seem to be filled with miasma. Shaking my head to clear my mind, I can tell the piano music is in this room. I wince as I stand and limp over to my dress. In the pocket there is the tiny flute I always carry around.
From my lips comes a lilting tune that matches the piano. Staggering towards the piano, I finally sit and join the music. The tune swirls around me like a spell by a master mage. And I am an apprentice, giving any weak magic I possess to my master and teacher. The flute is my wand and with it I can create both panoramic vistas and minute worlds. A master always learns from his apprentice just as the pupil learns from the teacher. I am not sure if I am the teacher or the student. Magic blurs the lines until one is indistinguishable from the other.
When the music stops, the sickness returns. Slowly, I continue to walk towards the piano. Nausea is at the edge of my consciousness.
"Mademoiselle, you should rest," the pianist says. I am in silent agreement; my legs want to collapse under me. Curiosity has the better of me, and I long to find out who plays piano so beautifully. Clutching my flute I lean forward and to the grand piano, letting the piano catch me. My eyes fall to the keys, where pale hands rest on them then my eyes steadily climb up to his face. It is the same the scarlet haired man that told me that I would be sick and later helped nurse me to health. Another racking cough claims me and blinds me for long moments.
"Should I?" I ask between coughs. It is only now that I notice I am wearing only a shift. My cheeks redden considerably.
"You play the flute exceptionally well. How long were you playing with me?" he inquires. I blush harder. My teachers always thought that I could be a flutist if all else failed. None of my teachers had a lot of confidence in any of my other ladylike talents. My embroidery was something to be desired and my singing was too rough.
The pianist and I are opposites, my red eyes and purple hair to his violet eyes and scarlet hair. As soon as I start coughing again, he rises immediately and catches me as I fall. I can feel him carry me before I black out.
When I wake, I can hear Maria Louise and the pianist talking and I can see the pianist. Both speak of my incurability.
I force words out of my mouth, "I am better." The words seem like lies then. I feel like I'd like to vomit. Bits of memory swirl in my head like pieces of a puzzle. The fog prevents me from piecing it all together. At my voice, both turn to look at me. With their help, I get out of bed. When the pianist leaves, Maria Louise helps me dress. While dressing me, she tells me that a physician came.
"Cousin, there is a small party in two days. Will you be able to attend?" she wonders. Looking at her straight, I nod 'yes.'
Remembering something, I ask, "Who is the male? The pianist?" He helped me recover, so I wish to know his name. "He plays piano so well." At my question, she blushes as red as my eyes. The tune he played weaves through my thoughts as it has since I heard it. As soon as the first tune starts, my flute's harmony joins the melody. The soft music lulls me.
"He is George de Sand, the man I love," she replied. The name echoes in the mist in my head. Somewhere I have heard it before, but sickness is hazy and makes me forgetful. In the depths of my mind comes the feeling of being held by George de Sand. Just the memory makes me blush even though I was mostly unconscious when it happened. I never really talked to another man near my age before I spoke to George de Sand.