This is short, I know, but this chapter actually means so freaking much to me. I will explain it all at the end. For now, just enjoy.
Photo #61: Ballade pour America
Nobody's a musician in the current Schreave family. That aspect of genetic behavior would come from but only stayed with America. They tried - hell, everyone tried - but nobody except for America was musically inclined. Whether it'd be with instruments or vocals, nothing harmonious would come out from anyone who wasn't her.
Eadlyn is the child who would try her best to never have to do anything musical. From that perspective, she seems like a disgrace to the Singer genenitcs in her body, but at least she's no musical fraud (unlike some people to be mentioned).
The next photo has Eadlyn's father sitting at one of the palace's grand pianos. It seems like he's playing a song but Eadlyn can't seem to put that idea to sense. She finds it unbelievable but little does she know that it actually happened.
-o-
The words that escape Maxon's mouth are unbelievable to her ears.
"I wrote you a song," he tells her.
It's almost too good to be true.
America doesn't respond because she's in too much disbelief. Her mind is definitely playing tricks on her because there was no way in hell that her husband wrote her a song. Maxon Schreave wrote a song. A song. He was incapable of doing anything music related so this is truly a shock for her.
"Did you really?" America asks just to be sure.
"I did," Maxon replies.
She still doesn't believe it.
"Seriously?"
Maxon holds his hand out for her and she takes it. He begins leading her through the castle halls and she's light and uneasy on her feet due to the thought her brain still couldn't process: Maxon Schreave wrote a song. A song for her. It doesn't matter that he's her husband and the song is for her, the point is that Maxon Schreave wrote a song.
They approach one of the castle's grand pianos and Maxon takes a seat in front of the polished keys. America stands beside him just to make sure isn't going to play some recording to claim it's his. Maxon stretches his arms and fingers out before starting to play. He begins playing softly yet beautifully and America still believes that she's dreaming. Not only does she continue to pinch her inner arm but she also forced herself to take a picture of Maxon playing the piano - anything to prove this as real.
Each note is delicate and every chord is timed precisely. America finds herself holding her breath at the fragility of Maxon's playing. His fingers travel across the piano fluidly, not missing one note as he progresses to the chorus, building the power through his crescendo. As he hits that chord signifying the start of the chorus, America feels her jaw drop as a chill passes through her spine. Maxon found time in his busy schedule to write a song and teach himself how to play the piano - all without her knowledge.
This is the most beautiful she has ever seen Maxon.
America finds herself humming along to Maxon's song. Every melodious sound vibrates in her throat and then she drifts off from the song when she examines the situation even more.
Maxon wrote her and song and is playing the piano for her, she already established that after her strong disbelief. She's more concerned about her humming. If Maxon really wrote this song for her, then why is she humming along as if she knows this song?
Her eyes suddenly open wide. She already knows this song.
"Is this 'Ballade pour Adeline' by Richard Clayderman?" America asks him with a grin on her face.
Maxon slightly looks over his shoulder nervously. His eyes are wide open as if he just got caught for something.
Busted.
"I have no idea who that is," Maxon says casually as he continues playing. "Or what that song is."
America snickers. She knew it was too good to be true, but Maxon is playing so unexpectedly well that she doesn't really care that the song isn't an original.
"This is Ballade pour America by Maxon Schreave," Maxon tells her.
America shrugs. "If you say so."
America slides in the piano seat and starts to play along with Maxon but an octave higher.
Today is my mom's birthday and she passed about three years ago. When I played piano, she wanted me to play Ballade pour Adeline for my upcoming competition. She died before I could actually perform it. Apparently, she loved hearing me practice it, though. I didn't win the competition but I got a 93/100 which was one of my best performances yet.
Another reason why this chapter is short: my mother was pretty short XD
Thank you to anyone who actually bothered to read that note. I mean it :)
Stay Tuned - "Your folds must be sharp, Mr. Schreave."
