(no subject)
I needed to post, and this came to mind. The general idea came from a music video i saw a while ago, I just let it expand.
One foot in front of the other.
I had no will for any thing else. One foot at a time, all I could manage after my world died. One foot, leading me away from the knowledge that she was dead. One foot at a time to get me away from reality.
She was dead. Murdered by the horde. More than just murdered, they're never that easy on their victims. Tortured, raped, humiliated, killed only when there wasn't any sport in it.
One foot in front of the other.
No one stops me, no one says a word to me as I pass through the brightly lit halls. Every one takes one look at me and then backs away. Servants and senschals alike. My pain and grief so tangible it becomes palatable to everyone, blood or landem.
One foot in front of the other.
She was, everything, to me. When I had been raped and broken, teetering on the edge of the twisted kingdoms, she had led me out. When I had become angry and bitter and blamed her kingdom for all the ills in my life, she had let me go. When I came back heartbroken over another's lies, she comforted me. When I accepted my calling, the witch's blood flowing to strong to be ignored anymore, she taught me. When I turned away from her love and went into the arms of a man, she stepped back, hiding her own pain. When I came back to her again, for the final time, all the treachery and self deception stripped away by jewel's power, she took me back into her life with out resentment or revenge, only love.
One foot in front of the other. But I can't, there's something blocking me.
Her piano.
Large, black, sleek, polished surface, gleaming keys. I sit on her bench, where she spent so many hours. Where she'd go to console her own pain each time I left. Where she first started teaching me the ways of the Craft, likening it to the music of my soul.
She was gone.
I touch the keys, remembering the countless hours that her hand spent on them, teasing the notes out of the ancient behemoth. All the love she poured into this thing, how no one but her could get the right sounds out of it. She stopped the servants from cleaning it, getting the rags and oil to polish it herself. Everyone objected, even me, to a Queen doing such a lowly task. She'd only laugh and say then she needed it even more.
She is gone.
A note drifts into the air as I push a key at random. It floats up through the room and fades away gently. It only makes the silence even more pronounced.
She was my life, my purpose, my queen, my lover, my teacher, my reason to get up in the morning, the heart of my anticipation to got to bed at night.
I look at the sheets, the last thing she played on this, one of her lovers, this piano made before her grandmother was born. One of those pieces that grows. She always poked at me because I never could remember the terms.
I'll never hear her music again.
I splay my fingers across the mother of pearl keys, just the way she taught me, just the way she did. I look at the music, the first notes, all the symbols for what key it's played in. I can't read it, I can't understand all the different meanings, it seems like they contradict each other.
A sob escapes my lips.
The first sign of emotion since they told me. I break down, grief heaving out of my soul as my forehead lands on the keys.
The notes pound out of the piano, discordant and jangling.
I'm lost for a time, I don't know how long. The light in the window changes, but by how much only the Goddess knows. At some point I raise my head back to the sheet of music. Feeling so empty, so hallow, I ache for anything to pour in, anything to mask this gaping hole in my life.
I look at the music without thought, without emotion, without effort. I put my hands on the keys.
I play.
The notes are soft, light, coming out slowly. They are the cooing of tired birds, the sigh of a baby falling asleep. I try to focus on the sheet of music at the next line and my fingers fumble, dropping the song and stumbling over discord.
I clear my mind of thought, using the skills she taught me to have only intent with nothing else.
I play.
The notes speak of the open fields of childhood, of running and playing and laughing for no reason other than to just laugh.
The song picks up pace, now it's the chirping of birds, it's the leap of a cat across furniture through a shaft of sunlight. The gallop of a horse down the wooded path.
The fringe on the edge of the carpet slowly releases tendrils of smoke.
It gets softer but not slower, the fall of rain on the rocks in spring. The deer running across the clearing for the safety of the woods, the panting of breath of two lovers sharing their bodies and souls. The music flowing out of my hands into the ancient piano like feeding a slumbering beast. But it is waking up, as the tears fell from my face. As my soul poured into the music that was building.
Wallpaper on the wall behind her starts to blister.
The tempo builds, the softness shifting into the pounding of rain coming in sheets driven by the winds of a storm. My hands flowing with a strength and precision I've never known. The music emanates from the room in waves of power and intensity that are felt by all the Blood in the castle.
A pause.
For three heart beats the music pauses, the quiet before the fury, the stillness before the lightning strike. No one can breathe, they can barely think, those close enough to be caught up in this storm.
Then the crash, the thunder of the music pounds out through the keys. The fury of the song coming out of my soul on so many levels every Blood in a hundred miles can feel it, the power, the passion, the anger. Oh goddess, the anger! Caustic pain that fill my existence with such an immensity as I can barely conceive of.
The sheets of music char and flutter to pieces and falling to black specks on her swiftly moving arms, a painting on the far walls bleeds down the frame as it's oils are liquified by the heat.
Like a dark and hungry God waking up from eons of slumber where even death my die the music crashes into my soul and I can feel it, at the edges, clawing, trying to get in. I had given into the music long ago, letting my intent carry me to where I feared to go. The song builds even more, a crashing tempo like a soldier's sword in battle, hacking, killing, relentless. But my hands never fail, each key struck with precision and power. More power than I am, than I can contain.
The silver candelabra on top of the piano melts and flows to the charred floor. The bench crumbles into a piles of ash as she stands up, bent over the keys, her arms and hands a blur of passion and urgency. A small army of the Blood have gathered around the room, as close to the heat as they can stand, trying to contain the blaze. The most powerful witches in the land are there, and they can't even reach her. They scream in futility at the edges of her fury, begging her to stop.
The last build, the climax of the piece, the fury of the song in its purest form. I can feel it, the power behind the song, the power in this piano, eager, blood thirsty, wanting in. Giving in to the moment, I play the song with my life's energy, riding it out. I pound out the last notes, hitting them with my fist.
A key cracks.
The mother of pearl key, lovingly played by her for so long, touched by her fingers so many times, broken. The Song is over, the playing has stopped. I stand there as She fills me, pouring into my soul. It's as if the broken key was the gate, the way for her essence, her energy, to flow from the beloved instrument of her soul and flow into me.
With singed hair and burned faces, the Blood have to back off, channeling so much power they're afraid of burning themselves out just to contain the blaze long enough to evacuate the castle. The rock wall of the hallway next to the room glows red with heat.
She fills me, my lover, my teacher, my soul's partner. Her pain becomes my pain. Every mark on her body gouges into mine, the pain filling me with ecstasy. Everything they did to her I lovingly accept in my body as She becomes one with me. I laugh at the exquisite agony of every indignity played on her flesh for their sport, their amusement. She was smart, my love, she never fought them, never resisted, played limp and unfeeling, to make it boring for them and hope they'd loose interest. But no, not in her, not the witch that had caused them so much trouble.
When a final surge the wall of the castle explodes out, half of the stones simply disappearing in the conflagration of power and pain. Three of the blood trying to hold back the storm give their lives to add enough power to hold it back and stop it from killing the landlen around them. And it is enough, just enough, as the witch walks out of the castle and into the Winds with the fury of a hurricane. The room is destroyed, except for the piano left in the center, untouched. And they all hear her last words as she steps away.
“I'll give them sport.”
One foot in front of the other.
I had no will for any thing else. One foot at a time, all I could manage after my world died. One foot, leading me away from the knowledge that she was dead. One foot at a time to get me away from reality.
She was dead. Murdered by the horde. More than just murdered, they're never that easy on their victims. Tortured, raped, humiliated, killed only when there wasn't any sport in it.
One foot in front of the other.
No one stops me, no one says a word to me as I pass through the brightly lit halls. Every one takes one look at me and then backs away. Servants and senschals alike. My pain and grief so tangible it becomes palatable to everyone, blood or landem.
One foot in front of the other.
She was, everything, to me. When I had been raped and broken, teetering on the edge of the twisted kingdoms, she had led me out. When I had become angry and bitter and blamed her kingdom for all the ills in my life, she had let me go. When I came back heartbroken over another's lies, she comforted me. When I accepted my calling, the witch's blood flowing to strong to be ignored anymore, she taught me. When I turned away from her love and went into the arms of a man, she stepped back, hiding her own pain. When I came back to her again, for the final time, all the treachery and self deception stripped away by jewel's power, she took me back into her life with out resentment or revenge, only love.
One foot in front of the other. But I can't, there's something blocking me.
Her piano.
Large, black, sleek, polished surface, gleaming keys. I sit on her bench, where she spent so many hours. Where she'd go to console her own pain each time I left. Where she first started teaching me the ways of the Craft, likening it to the music of my soul.
She was gone.
I touch the keys, remembering the countless hours that her hand spent on them, teasing the notes out of the ancient behemoth. All the love she poured into this thing, how no one but her could get the right sounds out of it. She stopped the servants from cleaning it, getting the rags and oil to polish it herself. Everyone objected, even me, to a Queen doing such a lowly task. She'd only laugh and say then she needed it even more.
She is gone.
A note drifts into the air as I push a key at random. It floats up through the room and fades away gently. It only makes the silence even more pronounced.
She was my life, my purpose, my queen, my lover, my teacher, my reason to get up in the morning, the heart of my anticipation to got to bed at night.
I look at the sheets, the last thing she played on this, one of her lovers, this piano made before her grandmother was born. One of those pieces that grows. She always poked at me because I never could remember the terms.
I'll never hear her music again.
I splay my fingers across the mother of pearl keys, just the way she taught me, just the way she did. I look at the music, the first notes, all the symbols for what key it's played in. I can't read it, I can't understand all the different meanings, it seems like they contradict each other.
A sob escapes my lips.
The first sign of emotion since they told me. I break down, grief heaving out of my soul as my forehead lands on the keys.
The notes pound out of the piano, discordant and jangling.
I'm lost for a time, I don't know how long. The light in the window changes, but by how much only the Goddess knows. At some point I raise my head back to the sheet of music. Feeling so empty, so hallow, I ache for anything to pour in, anything to mask this gaping hole in my life.
I look at the music without thought, without emotion, without effort. I put my hands on the keys.
I play.
The notes are soft, light, coming out slowly. They are the cooing of tired birds, the sigh of a baby falling asleep. I try to focus on the sheet of music at the next line and my fingers fumble, dropping the song and stumbling over discord.
I clear my mind of thought, using the skills she taught me to have only intent with nothing else.
I play.
The notes speak of the open fields of childhood, of running and playing and laughing for no reason other than to just laugh.
The song picks up pace, now it's the chirping of birds, it's the leap of a cat across furniture through a shaft of sunlight. The gallop of a horse down the wooded path.
The fringe on the edge of the carpet slowly releases tendrils of smoke.
It gets softer but not slower, the fall of rain on the rocks in spring. The deer running across the clearing for the safety of the woods, the panting of breath of two lovers sharing their bodies and souls. The music flowing out of my hands into the ancient piano like feeding a slumbering beast. But it is waking up, as the tears fell from my face. As my soul poured into the music that was building.
Wallpaper on the wall behind her starts to blister.
The tempo builds, the softness shifting into the pounding of rain coming in sheets driven by the winds of a storm. My hands flowing with a strength and precision I've never known. The music emanates from the room in waves of power and intensity that are felt by all the Blood in the castle.
A pause.
For three heart beats the music pauses, the quiet before the fury, the stillness before the lightning strike. No one can breathe, they can barely think, those close enough to be caught up in this storm.
Then the crash, the thunder of the music pounds out through the keys. The fury of the song coming out of my soul on so many levels every Blood in a hundred miles can feel it, the power, the passion, the anger. Oh goddess, the anger! Caustic pain that fill my existence with such an immensity as I can barely conceive of.
The sheets of music char and flutter to pieces and falling to black specks on her swiftly moving arms, a painting on the far walls bleeds down the frame as it's oils are liquified by the heat.
Like a dark and hungry God waking up from eons of slumber where even death my die the music crashes into my soul and I can feel it, at the edges, clawing, trying to get in. I had given into the music long ago, letting my intent carry me to where I feared to go. The song builds even more, a crashing tempo like a soldier's sword in battle, hacking, killing, relentless. But my hands never fail, each key struck with precision and power. More power than I am, than I can contain.
The silver candelabra on top of the piano melts and flows to the charred floor. The bench crumbles into a piles of ash as she stands up, bent over the keys, her arms and hands a blur of passion and urgency. A small army of the Blood have gathered around the room, as close to the heat as they can stand, trying to contain the blaze. The most powerful witches in the land are there, and they can't even reach her. They scream in futility at the edges of her fury, begging her to stop.
The last build, the climax of the piece, the fury of the song in its purest form. I can feel it, the power behind the song, the power in this piano, eager, blood thirsty, wanting in. Giving in to the moment, I play the song with my life's energy, riding it out. I pound out the last notes, hitting them with my fist.
A key cracks.
The mother of pearl key, lovingly played by her for so long, touched by her fingers so many times, broken. The Song is over, the playing has stopped. I stand there as She fills me, pouring into my soul. It's as if the broken key was the gate, the way for her essence, her energy, to flow from the beloved instrument of her soul and flow into me.
With singed hair and burned faces, the Blood have to back off, channeling so much power they're afraid of burning themselves out just to contain the blaze long enough to evacuate the castle. The rock wall of the hallway next to the room glows red with heat.
She fills me, my lover, my teacher, my soul's partner. Her pain becomes my pain. Every mark on her body gouges into mine, the pain filling me with ecstasy. Everything they did to her I lovingly accept in my body as She becomes one with me. I laugh at the exquisite agony of every indignity played on her flesh for their sport, their amusement. She was smart, my love, she never fought them, never resisted, played limp and unfeeling, to make it boring for them and hope they'd loose interest. But no, not in her, not the witch that had caused them so much trouble.
When a final surge the wall of the castle explodes out, half of the stones simply disappearing in the conflagration of power and pain. Three of the blood trying to hold back the storm give their lives to add enough power to hold it back and stop it from killing the landlen around them. And it is enough, just enough, as the witch walks out of the castle and into the Winds with the fury of a hurricane. The room is destroyed, except for the piano left in the center, untouched. And they all hear her last words as she steps away.
“I'll give them sport.”