Tears of Music

Chapter 3

Rafael Bolonask was by his preferred seat, holding his hands in a rather inpatient manner. It was obvious that he was a very busy man whose schedule could not be paused nor set aside because of mortal needs such as eating. Music finally entered the kitchen, lightly taping her feet against the heavy flooring of the room. It seemed as if she were dancing around, even the soft sound of her sitting down offered the feeling of happiness in the room; an easy thing to abolish with a simple glare. The old Bolonask lifted his tired skinny head and with a simple meet of eyes Music's body stopped; suddenly pausing as she was nothing but a cartoon through the screen of the tv. 

The butler sat closer to Music with his own plate of food and leaning closer to her he whispered "Your father wishes to speak with you", an obvious statement a few moments belated. Mister Bolonask placed his long fingers on the side of the table and then begun his speech with a colder than usual tone. "If you are done, both of you, speaking under your tongues I would like to speak myself. I see you are happy with your new school Music which is good" he paused there taking a small break in order to brush his finger over his polished fork. "I believe though your day has been too relaxed and as I always say..". Then followed the united voices of the father and the daughter speaking the same sentence "A moment you spend resting is a moment of wasted knowledge". 

The phrase was something the man always spoke, it used to be spoken out with a smile as if to say 'the world is too magnificent for anyone to miss even a single moment'. That was different though. After the loss of his beautiful wife the man had changed everything both on him and inside of him, so the phrase became a more soft way of saying 'No one should be resting around the house because resting gives the chance of imagination'. The man closed his thin lips as Music repeated the phrase and then nodded content. "I believe you know what that means. You will be welcome if you want to read the books of the eleventh column in my office. They would offer a more serious perspective to the world around you". The young female recognized the offer rather quickly. It meant that she was going to have to study in front of her father at least three of those books for it was never a suggestion but an order. She agreed verbally to him as well which shackled her even further. So much for the relaxing family dinner, right?

Music was not truly able to focus after the eventful dinner she had, her bed reflecting such mood. The sheets were piled on the left side of her bed hiding the shimmer of the moon that slipped through the curtains while she was laying with her feet against her pillow attempting to view Morpheus from another angle. "This is not working, not at all" she finally announced to herself fully displeased. Her hair were a mess, a black nest which sat against here scalp pretending to be a crown. She turned around on the bed, the mattress sinking gently against each one of her moves until her hands reached the pillow. 

The leather book was still hiding close to her so she thought, since she could not sleep maybe she could study. She opened the book and got the lyrical sheet out once again placing it next to the notes; her mind begun to match up each syllable with each musical phrase and so her eyes sparkled up "I have not forgotten anything about the piano at least" she admitted. Several hours later, when the sun peaked up once again she caught her body still looking at the leather book. The track was in her head, all set up in perfect order and waiting to be played aloud. Somehow even the lyrics had a familiar sense to them which added an even more odd satisfaction with each read through. "I will be back little book. Tomorrow night your story will be told" she promised leaving her warm fingerprint against the cover of her new friend.

"Time for the real world"

The day begun slowly, truly slow. Music ate her breakfast, went to the castle that hosted her school, survived through the classes with the exquisite power of daydreaming and finally reached the musical part of her studying. She wanted to brush through those hours quickly as well but once again she saw that the clocks around disagreed. Time slowed down until in almost moved backwards, blending in the voices of other students with the tone of their tutor; the melody of the delicious waltz carrying the images around her into a stable position, like porcelain dolls.