I just read over a few of the earlier chapters, and my goodness. I'm sorry. I don't think I realized how pretentious I sounded, what with the over-the-top vocabulary. I'm attempting to work on it now, but please: if the writing regresses to being ornate, let me know. Constructive criticism is always wonderful.
Honestly, my deepest apologies are extended. I had no idea until someone pointed it out.
Oh, and the song referenced here is Arabesque by Claude Debussy. Give it a listen; beautiful, beautiful piece.
xo
Golds and yellows danced across the parlor, and serenity breezed in through the windows. As Isabella's grandparents had been the former owners, the house's antiquity was warm; comforting.
Her eyes perused the room, stopping on a grand piano. Lord, how her heart ached with the memories.
She stepped forward.
Its aged texture was a contrast to the delicate fingertip grazing over the keys, but a 'welcome home' all the same.
I wonder… She mused. Would that one piece still be hidden in the bench? It was her grandmother's favorite, and Isabella had been the only other pianist of their family able to perform it.
Dozens of compositions were messily thrown about. Come on, come on – ah, there we go. The crinkled paper felt natural in her grasp.
As if it was a forbidden jewel, her eyes darted across the room. Lightly but despondently chuckling to herself, she remembered: no one was home to hear.
Moments passed, silence prevailing among them.
Her fingers slowly depressed into the keys.
She fumbled. What made her think she could simply play this after years in its absence – years away from a piano, for goodness' sake? She felt compelled to get up, walk away from it. It was a lost cause.
And then, she listened. Truly listened – she could hear it.
The sweet, passionate melody captivated her. Her movements became more graceful with the progression of notes. So full of radiance, full of tender inspiration and happiness and beauty, it rose and fell with her hurried breath.
It was everything dear, secret, sacred to mankind. It breathed sadness; bliss strayed not far behind. The landscape her future painted, what had once belonged to the past – tears threatened with their escape, and she allowed it.
It was beautiful and it was unearthly. Even so, she could not distinguish why. She could not distinguish why until the embrace of her fiancé joined auburn locks with ebony. She could not distinguish why until that familiar warmth encompassed her hand, and the piano's melody abruptly began.
It was Phineas.