light and dark come to gray if
there were more than one ways to
For once, there weren't the tinkling sounds of a piano when Morita entered Aruma's room. She nearly slipped on the impossibly polished floor, almost her ankle. A horrendous screech of rubber-like material and dry stone. Cringing, she continued as if the floor was made of thin ice that could shatter under her.
She looked around the balcony but there was only the slight sway of the chandelier above her head, sparkling the colors of the rainbow. The piano was cold and empty.
Her fingers played with the bottom of her cape. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous when she should've been angry. He had prevented her from helping the other Melbands, she had every justification to resent him. He should be the one that's trembling in his boots.
Maybe Aruma isn't here, she told herself, somewhat eager to leave without confrontation.
Then, Tempdeis's words rung in her head. That Season boy sneaks out regularly, reporting to the Dishonoreds.
Morita sat down at the piano seat, not sure what to do. He better not be with the Dishonoreds right now. Especially with Tempdeis knowing his moves.
She sighed and put her hands on the piano keys lightly, trying to remember what Aruma looked like when he played. She put one hand on five neighboring white keys—though she wasn't sure where on the piano so her hands were relatively apart. Wrist slightly hitched. Straight back.
She slowly pressed one white key at a time from her thumb to her pinky, taking time to familiarize herself with the feeling. It didn't sound like anything remarkable, but it wasn't unpleasant.
She played her time away, waiting for someone, or at least, something. Most of the white keys sounded nice together but a combination of white and black keys produced an off sound that was creepy, sad, or just bad.
Of course, like any normal person who had the chance, Morita ran her hand from the highest key to the lowest which made the most satisfying sound she could ever make on the piano. And then again but from lowest to highest.
At last, she stared at the piano, intrigued how enchanted it was. No fingerprint lingered. There was no fault in the mechanics, not that she was sure how the instrument worked.
Morita sighed again, the string that was her patient thinning.
A harsh vibration echoed in the room from behind. She turned around and instantly felt warm all over. The Winter deity was standing by the doors, slowly clapping, watching her with a lightness in his gaze and a smile on his lips.
YOU ARE READING
Silver As GlaceFantasy
They took her life, so she will destroy everything they have. Masquerades are dances of the night, ploys to cover identities as tricks are pulled behind the masks. As an outcast deemed freakish by her society, it's all 17-year-old Morita has ever w...