"The Pianist"
~Chapter One~
18 Months later
The sun shines bright in the sapphire sky, no clouds invade - unless one would count the occasional small, puffy white ones just hanging there against the blue. Which, no one really does because they're so small that no rain can be held in them. No rain, sleet, or hail. Which makes the small-for-her-size brunette smile widely. She has her brown hair, that is almost black in the right sort of light, usually it's in a high braid so it's given the illusion of being as long as the middle of her back but today she has down with no bounds to bind it from being an unruly haystack sitting atop her head. So it rests just above her buttocks.
Her skin, however tan and flawless from any sort of pimple, is marred on the left side of her face from when was very young and she had followed her papa out into the woods; she had run into a wolf with angry eyes and large shoulders; it cornered her against the stump of a tree before it had marred her flesh...she screamed and then her papa came running. Her left eye is now twisted at the corner and points down, her lips on the left side is set in a thin line that resembles a grimace. Her mother always smiled at her, coming her fingers through her daughters hair and saying "You have never looked more beautiful, My angel." Such kind words to make her smile. If it were true, then why is she 16 and still not engaged to a bachelor?
Sighing, she moves away from the window of her small room of her families small cottage. She runs her fingers through her hair as she stands on her feet, hobbling because she was born with a leg that is shorter than the other. Is that the cause for her single life? She sighs again, walking to the doorless hole in the wall and walking to the small wooden table where her papa and mama were sitting with her baby brothers and sisters. Five children, and she's the oldest.
"Gabriella," her mama says kindly, crows feet surrounding her hazel eyes as she holds a small in her arms. "Come sit, it's nearly noon-"
"I'm not hungry." Gabriella says, shaking her head and walking to the door hooks where her blue cloak hung on a tattered, splintered hook. Her papa, Gregor, had gotten up from the table and is holding her arm gently.
"Gabriella..." He whispers, trying not to look at her face. He blames himself, and Gabriella tells him over and over that it's not his fault that it happened to her. "You need eat-"
"I'll pick some berries in the woods, but I just...I need some air, papa." She says, kissing his cheek as she slips on her blue cloak and pulling up the hood so her ears are protected from the weather and elements; in the small village of Faerie the weather can change with a tap of a stick or a drop of a hat, a flutter of a cloak. Gregor watches from the small, square window as Gabriella disappeared behind a huge trunked tree and thorny bushes. He sighs, turning back to his wife and sitting at the table when his youngest daughter comes bounding to him and climbing on his lap.
"She'll be fine, Gregor." His wife says, a sad, sympathetic smile on her lips. He smiles sadly back at her.
"I know she will be, she's strong...but she's my little girl." She holds the small infant in one arm, taking her free hand to caress his small double shin. He looks at her with the same eyes that Gabriella has. "I just wish she didn't follow me that day-"
"It wasn't your fault, Gregor..she's told you this; she'll be fine. She's your daughter half the time. Stubborn." Gregor chuckles, ruffling his youngest daughters hair- thank goodness that she is only 2 years, and can scarcely talk; but she has taken to chewing on almost everything she can get her grubby, fingers on. Gregor smiles, taking his finger from her mouth- only to have her whine and grab it again to put it back. "This one is your child-"
"I don't chew on everything." She laughs, Gregor shakes his head and waggles his eyebrows. "What do you call it when we're in our room?"
"Gregor!" She half-yells, her eyes wide in partial shock at what her husband had just said; and in front of the children too! The nerve of him!
"Oh come now, Marina," he says, his previous angst gone. "It's only jesting in good humour-"
"Is that what you call it?" She huffs, standing up from the table and adjusting the small babe so he's on her shoulder and she starts rubbing and patting his back gently. Gregor sighs, standing up and carrying the small girl in his arms as well.
"Only a jest, my dear." He says warmly, she turns to him.
"Not in front of our children, Gregor. They shouldn't hear things like that-"
"So I had said it at an inopportune moment-"
"'inopportune'!? Is that what you call it?!" She yells, the baby boy in her arms beginning to fuss from their raised voices. She sighs, rubbing his back and murmuring in his tiny ear. "It's okay, Sweeting." she hushes, staring at her husband with eyes that could kill if they were physical weapons. He nods and goes to the front window to watch where his oldest had gone off, then he looks at the little girl in his arms- happily nibbling on his finger and her eyelids half drooping. He smiles and kisses her smooth forehead, then he rests his cheek on her skin.
"When you're older, Lana, you won't go anywhere without me." He whispers softly, sitting on the floor with his legs drawn up.
The woods werealways her favourite place to be; even after what had happened with the wolf when she was naught but a girl. Her sister Lana is the same age that Gabriella was when the wolf attacked her. Her hands stuffed in the pockets of her cloak and her hair falling out of the hood- she should've binded it with some sort of bind before she left. A ribbon? A piece of twine? String? Instead she has to make do with pushing her hair out of the way with her hands only to have it fall in her face again.
Her ankles hurt like the dickens, but she kept walking on. Her stomach growls with hunger but she ignores it; she'd pick some berries when she came across them...which the bush should be near by soon enough. With the anticipation of berries, she walks faster. Her short leg pains her cause she's never walked so much on it before, but she's not about to stop and turn around.
Twigs snap under the weight of her sandalled feet, and her moth eaten dress keeps getting caught on branches that'd fallen in the nights angry storm and roots that like to stick out of the ground and trip any one who walks this footpath in these woods that surrounds the village.
It's been monthssince he's lost his sight, months since his fingers touched the ivory keys of his piano. He would wave a hand in front of his face, blink several times; nothing changed this outcome. He always saw darkness. He lets out a sigh, sitting straight on his mattress and running his fingers through his hair. What time is it? He reaches his hand to a warm spot on his bed where the noon sun had warmed it a bit, "Noon...a little after." he murmurs, shaking his head as he throws his legs over the edge of his bed. Eighteen months, his fingers twitch every time his thoughts come to the piano; every time there's a melody in his head that has to be spilled on to his keys. He's fought the urge till now, with his hands stretched out and fingers stiff as sticks, he walks toward where the piano is. At least, he thinks it's the piano.
Focused on his mission to get to the piano, he doesn't hear the door squeak open; or the protest of the hinges as it creaks. "Troy." His mother says, "What are you doing?" He takes another step, curses softly and rubs his calf.
"What did I bump into?" He asks, ignoring her question. Lorana sighs, walking toward her son and grasping his arm with her two hands that'd soon be two paws. Troy yanks his arm free of her, "I can walk!" she sighs, shaking her head.
"Troy, let me help-"
"No!" He yells, "I can walk! Blast it, I'm blind not an invalid who can't even use his legs!" He backs away rather quickly from his mother and falls back over a plush, dark leather ottoman. Lorana shrieks and grabs his arm again, but he shakes her off. "Just leave me.." he says, his voice betraying him of the emotion that he's always trying to hide; his voice cracks. Lorana kneels at his side, resting a palm on his cheek.
"Son," she whispers, "let me and your father help yo-"
"No.." he says, "Just...leave me, and go about your's and father's business."
"Troy Alexander James." She scolds, grabbing his chin in her small hand and staring into his eyes that are a paler blue than they usually are because of what had happened. "I'm your mother, and your father is David Bolton; we love you very much! Let us help you! Don't act like a selfish prat!" Troy would be staring his mother down if he could see her face. Only dark blackness.
His fingers twitch, he closes his eyes to the blackness that was more quiet than the blackness that surrounds him when he's awake. "I wish to be at the piano." He whispers, Lorana grasps his arm and helps him to his feet.
"Are you going to play a song?" She asks in a whisper of a wistful voice. Troy is un-answering. His mother just sighs, and guides him toward the piano bench. She almost helps him sit, but he shoves her away. "I can sit on my own, Mother." He hisses at her, she nods even though he cannot see and turns to leave the room. When he sits upon the stool of the piano, he starts in a light, airy melody that flows to a lighter yet heavier tune at the same time. He paints a picture in his mind with the music, hues of red and blue and orange and yellow and green swarm around him as the soft as psalm melodious notes float and flutter in his ears and around his body. Enrapturing his soul in their pleasant claws.
In this world, he can see the colours he paints with his whimsical music strokes. In this world, he can see each key, each note that he plays this song with. And then the notes drift to a softer air and the colours and hues and the memories of this world dim and disappear as soon as he stops playing the notes. He doesn't stop directly, his fingers immediately start a different song. The hues that surround him are a dark, midnight blue and a dark, iridescent purple with yellow and white candle light marking their signatures in the void. He feels warm, but sadness envelopes him as he plays such a melancholy tune. His breath comes out shallow and concentrated.
He doesn't hear his chamber door crack open and the heads of his parents poke in to listen to their son's playing.
The sun is nearits time to disappear over the edge of the forests, Gabriella has yet to come across any berry bushes and the night chill is beginning to seep into her bones. Her bum leg is paining her, and she can no longer fight the urge to stop and rest. She pushes forward a bit to the small clearing that sits on the other side of a large oak tree and pine bush. She sits on a fallen tree, and rubs her short leg at the ankle. "Ah," she winces, poking lightly at the flesh on her ankle, it's swollen and warm to her touch. Oh, bugger, she rubs it more gently as a wind comes at her. She shrugs on her cloak so it's tighter around her small frame.
She hates being in the woods this close to the sunset; the animals come out at night, wolves and things that creep and crawl. She lifts her head to see her surroundings. Where is she? Trees, surrounded by large and tall trees that are oak-or pine- it's hard to tell which. The ground is covered in early autumn leaves and crushed twigs like something of great mass had stomped on them by running. She feels a prickle of fear tickle her scalp as she takes a cautious step back...
That's when she hears a low growl. "Please be my stomach." She whispers to herself, another growl and she turns slowly to the eyes-the yellow eyes- of a great wolf; it's teeth bared at her in hunger and anguish of not catching anything for a meal in a long while. "I just..don't hurt me.." she says to the wolf, her hand subconsciously going to her face where her skin is permanently marred by the wolf that had attacked her as a girl. "I just want to go home.." she closes her eyes as the wolf stalks closer and growls again, she takes a step back. Her cloak billowing in the sudden wind and her skin prickling in goose flesh at the nightly chill. Swallowing the bile of fear that had risen in her throat, she takes another step back that earned her another growl, she takes another step back and then she turns and runs.
Not caring in what direction she's running in, not caring that she might very well run off a giant hill or the edge of the world itself, but she runs just to avoid the wolf that is now chasing her. She sends a silent prayer to God and his angel, St. Michael, to guide her to safety.
She prays for safety...and the will to keep going on her leg that feels like a small, weak twig.
Here it is! The first official chapter! I hope you like it! :D Let me know what you think! For the next chapter, I am asking for 5 reviews. Five.
Thanks to those who reviewed the prologue: Hopelessromanticgurl, londongirl (what are your numbers again?) and everybody else who I forget the names of lol anyway...Have Fun reading! Be sure to leave a lovely review of your opinion!
~Elena xx