The music came without warning.
A few notes at first, it rose to a crescendo that sounded akin to a lullaby that floated into the night. An announcement of magic from beyond Lucy's window.
She knew what it was; she had heard it once a year whenever the carnival sang of its arrival. Yet where once before there had been fear at its sound, now there was only a curious sense of excitement.
Rising from her bed, she walked with near silent steps across her room to where the notes flitted through her window, and with her breath seeming to catch in her throat she pulled back the heavy drapes that had shuttered out what lay beyond.
For amidst the fields cloaked in shadow there it lay in a twinkling of lights-- the hues of the tents as bright as she had recalled them to be all those years prior. And though from such a distance she couldn't have known if the mysterious boy stood before the silver gates, she felt his presence there waiting for her.
It only served to pull her closer, beckoning to her with a strange magic till at last she wished for nothing more than to step beyond the confines of her house, running across the open field and through those silver gates. Indeed even now she could feel herself reaching for the latch that held the window closed, her body disobeying every command of her mind till at last her only thought was of climbing down onto the ground below.
How wonderous it would feel, to run barefoot across the open plane. Feeling the grass beneath her feet as she ran towards the music. The breath of the darkest part of the night kissing her cheeks as she approached the twinkling lights--
A grip of iron slammed down suddenly upon her shoulder and she nearly screamed, whipping around till she was met with the stern and weathered gaze of her grandmother. Yet for the spark of anger that shone in her eyes, her voice was filled with a gentle firmness as she spoke, the music of the carnival fading in Lucy's ears at her words. "It is not what it seems to be, child. You mustn't trust the lights or the merry colors, for it is nothing but wicked magic."
Perhaps in that instance Lucy felt as though she ought to defend the nature of the carnival, though she wasn't entirely certain why. For though she had never attended, it held some manner of importance to her.
A manifestation of the magic she had always believed in.
"I was only looking." she replied, hoping she sounded far more convincing than she felt. "No harm in that, is there?"
Her grandmother, however, appeared far less convinced than Lucy would have liked her to be. "Looking is what starts all the trouble." she huffed. "There will be no looking, or touching, or anything dreadful such as that."
"You're making all this horribly difficult. I'm all grown up now, you know. I can look at magical objects if I want to."
The look her grandmother gave her was enough for her comments to cease. "Heavens, this child shall be the death of me! Back in my day when an old person told us not to bother with something magical we didn't, and if we did we died."
This time, it was Lucy who rolled her eyes. "That was ages ago."
Turning to glance once more at the window, she paused, her eyes narrowing as they caught sight of something stuck within the corner of the sill that fluttered gently in the wind; a small piece of paper, ivory in color with ornate borders of black, the words 'ADMIT ONE' printed in a large yet elegant font within its center.
A ticket.
She started forward, intending to point it out, yet was stopped when her grandmother threw open the window and snatched the paper from where it lay wedged within the wooden sill, quickly tucking it away within her pocket.
With that, she slammed shut the window and hurriedly drew closed the drapes, muffling the notes once more. "Many have been fooled by the music and the promise of reviving dead love, my dear." she went on, her tone far more weary than it had been a moment before, "And many have been lost to such things, giving away far more than they had intended to."
Lucy watched as she withdrew from around her neck a key, crossing the room to where a locked cupboard stood, unlocking it and placing the ticket inside with an air of finality. The closing of the cupboard door was enough to indicate that such a conversation was finished.
Yet her warnings had lost their luster, doing little to dissuade Lucy now. Not when there was a chance that the stories of the carnival were true; that the dead could be promised life once more. For she could undo her mistake-- bringing to life once more the Baron she had failed to save.
It did not matter if there were dark powers involved or, far more dreadfully, the wedding would be placed back into motion. What mattered was that her own conscience would be free of the shroud of guilt that plagued it and she could live on.
It would be so simple... It would fix everything...
Thus, she had very few qualms when at last she rose from her bed after the passing of several hours. Her footsteps nearly silent upon the wooden floor as she crossed into the next room to find her grandmother fast asleep, the key to the cupboard still hanging by a chain around her neck.
Reaching forward, Lucy felt her breath hitch in her throat, every muscle within her body tense as her fingers closed around the chain-- only just grazing her grandmother's neck as she began to lift the key upwards...
A hand, bony and frail yet with surprising strength latched around her wrist, her grandmother's eyes springing open with a suddenness that nearly made Lucy recoil backwards. Yet in the end she remained where she was, the key still clutched in her hand, her eyes gazing at the knowing look upon her grandmother's face.
"You can't stop me," Lucy whispered in a tight voice, "I have to see if the stories are true. I have to try to save him. I can't live with knowing I never tried."
The hand released then, and though her grandmother said nothing in reply as Lucy took the key from her neck, there was a glitter in her eyes that knew that she was right.
For perhaps allowing her granddaughter to enter the carnival was far easier than condemning her to a life of guilt. And though Lucy had never truly told her what had occurred the day the Baron died, she had always felt as though her grandmother knew somehow.
It was perhaps why she said nothing as Lucy unlocked the cupboard and withdrew the ticket-- the paper oddly cold against the tips of her fingers. And with her grandmother's gaze still boring into her, Lucy drew a shawl around her shoulders and stepped out into the night, her steps carrying her towards the music.
.....................................................