This is an excerpt from something I’m working on. Besides inciting an emotional response, Music has a way of changing our perspective, even when try to hold on to perceptions.
He was walking through the great hall when he heard it. The melody seeped through the heavy stone pillars that punctuated the voluminous space, interspersed with careless strangers and their careless ears. He stood still closed his eyes and listened. Then his feet followed the sound. He barely felt the marble tiles beneath them as they quickened toward the circular staircase while his heavy coat bellowed behind him. He found himself in a small room at the end of a long passage. He entered quietly, aware of the slight shift in the air, and in the music, caused by his presence. His ear picked the slight deviation in pause between notes. It mattered not, for it created an exception he found himself appreciating.
She sat at the grand piano at the head of the room. He watched her as he listened.
In that moment she was beautiful. Astonishingly so. Her large forehead glistened as the music floated around her. Her bony frame, awkward at most times, swayed with a sweet grace. And her fingers. They commanded, then teased, then cajoled and commanded again. Light and soft notes followed by the hard quick ones. He was enthralled.
When it was over. And when the silence saturated the room, she turned toward him.
“You came,” she said.
He was silent. The melody still alive in his head.
“Beethoven’s Moonlight,” he sighed.
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