Chapter 16. Forgotten Waltz.
The doors of the music room creaked open as I stepped in. The polished grand piano stared at me, daring me to join the last battle.
I sat on the stool before the piano, opening its lid.
I hadn’t played the instrument in years: always preferring the dramatic and passionate violin to gentle and soft piano, but today my mind demanded tranquil melancholia that could reach to the very depths of my soul and make me feel something—anything beyond this utter hollow.
My fingers brushed over the raw keys of the instrument as I tried to remember any piece I’d learned, yet only one came to mind. Only one seemed to fit such circumstances: Sandra’s favorite.
She hadn’t fancied waltzes as much as I had, but this one she’d asked me to play again and again on my violin, until my fingers would be sore from the instrument, and every bone in my body would beg for rest.
I warmed up my fingers as the empty hole inside of me grew with dread. The burns on my fingers almost faded, leaving me with nothing but emptiness.
I took a deep breath, settling my hands in the proper position. My eyes studied the keys I was so afraid to press. For the last time, I glanced at the closed door, making sure no one was to witness my inevitable shatter.
I wasn’t sure why I did this at all, knowing that the music would lead to an unstoppable meltdown. Perhaps I needed it somewhere so deep in my soul that even my consciousness guarded me from the thought. Perhaps I was so tired of the heartbreak, that the pain that would come sounded like salvation.
I hadn’t cried since the day I’d lost her, for I’d known if the first tear were to fall, they would never have stopped until my soul had drowned in misery.
I closed my eyes when the first note played; every inch of my skin was covered in bumps. My hands shook as I pressed the keys: slowly, as though the melody would grow claws and end me before my heartache would.
My marked skin screamed in agony, yet my soul screamed louder.
The dread in my stomach shrunk the more I played, yet the tears didn’t come. Not yet, though I knew they would.
The melody smelled like Sandra: wildflowers and caramel, fresh dew and old books. The melody painted pictures of dawn that would shimmer in Sandra’s hair, and green, as the summer forest, that reminded me of her eyes.
The music continued on its own, my blackened fingers didn’t belong to me any longer, sounding harsher than it needed to be, though it perfectly fit the story of Sandra's life in the end. Horror and despair. Excruciation and... Death.
The music carried me away from the castle—somewhere I had no right to be—for Sandra’s gentle hands stretched out to me, soothing my crying heart. She was so close: I could hear her strong heartbeat, her bright laughter, and her magical singing.
The ballad she’d written when we were children, about a girl who grew wings which carried her far-far away to a land that only knew happiness and peace, erupted in the room.
Her voice, so strong but so delicate, caressed my ears and forced silent tears to my soul. Her sweet voice stripped me of all the anger that had filled me from the day we’d parted. Bare, I was unsure how to handle the vulnerability. I let the tears fall.
The tears burned my cheeks, falling down onto the keyboard of the piano. My eyes could no longer see the keys; my fingers kept missing the notes, yet it mattered not. If I had to stay here forever, playing the same piece to hear her voice for a mere moment, I was glad to oblige.
I hit the keys as more tears fell; my fingers could no longer move, my eyes could no longer see, my mind could no longer think.
I stared at the keyboard through the glass that covered my vision. The music echoed in my head—
Careful steps moved towards me, and I wiped the evidence of being distraught off my face.
I got up from the stool, ready to flee. Yet, when I saw Francis standing in the center of the room, my mind betrayed me.
My legs gave out as I collapsed onto the marble floor before him, my knees screaming out in protest from the impact.
“I killed her,” I whispered before the agony teared up my throat. “Francis—” I bellowed when he dropped beside me, his hands holding me tight from shattering into small pieces.
“I killed her,” I kept repeating again and again as my heart fractured. “How can I live—”
“Shhh.” Francis’ hand fell onto the back of my neck; his cold fingers caressed my skin. “You didn’t kill her, Kane did.”
“No!” I tried to push him away, yet his hands held me firmly in place. “I could have—I should have—” I choked. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Francis.”
“It’s not your fault, love.” He held my cheeks. “It is not your fault.”
I blinked the tears away, filling my lungs as his eyes bored into mine. “It is not your fault,” he whispered again. “I am so very sorry I let it happen.”
I shook my head. “It isn’t your burden to carry.” I glanced at the black marble floor before confessing, “I didn’t think you would come at all. Not after our conversation.”
Pain painted his face as his brows furrowed.
“Cordelia...” His voice dropped a few octaves as his arms wrapped around me once more.
Jasmine and winter washed over me when I closed my eyes, filling my lungs with his aroma.
“I would never leave you, Cordelia.” He said against my shoulder.
“I would never leave you, even if I am the last person you wish to see. I swear it to you.”
I closed my eyes against his shoulder. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks onto his skin. My trembling hands veiled around his neck, and I welcomed the closeness. The ache of my injury ceased the longer we sat in this caress, the warmth spreading through my body, reaching my soul bit by bit.
A sigh pushed past my lips as I brought my face closer to his neck. His heartbeat sang me lullabies, serenity pouring through me like honey: no storm could reach our embrace’s ward.
“I love y—” My eyes flew open, disturbed by my own admission. My lips sealed close before the words spilled out without my permission, piercing my heart all around. I swallowed as my galloping heart throbbed against my ribs. Damnation.
Blood rushed to my cheeks; the air escaped my lungs at once.
“I didn’t mean—” Had I meant it? Did I love— “I—I don’t—I don’t know—” I stuttered, my lips shaking as embarrassment rushing through my veins. My brows knitted together. “I’m sorry.”
A corner of Francis’ lips tugged upwards. “It’s all right. You had a long few nights, I understand.” His hand fell atop my injured one, connecting on the marble. “Don’t you worry about it.”
“I don’t know why I said that,” I rasped. “I don’t—” I shook my head, my stomach turning in every direction possible.
“It’s all right, Cordelia,” Francis whispered. “You are tired. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I’m sorry.” I nodded, gathering to my feet. “I am a fool,” I said under my breath, charging towards the exit.
“No need to apologize." Francis rushed after me.
My heart still banged against my rib cage when I hurried up the stairs, the tips of my ears burned in shame.
Francis’ steps followed. I need not look at him to feel the piercing gaze that prickled the back of my head, and I chided myself for such foolishness. “Have a good rest, Cordelia.” He reached to open the door to my room, inviting me in. I froze still in place.
My throat went dry at the threshold to my room. My eyes planted on his hand atop the door’s knob, for I could not bear meeting his eyes.
I needed to be alone, needed to straighten everything the storm had wrecked on its way to free me. So many wicked thoughts, so many bewildering feelings that my heart had no business unleashing upon my mind...
Oh, but how afraid I was to stay alone with my monsters for even a moment. “Would you stay with me?” I asked, against my better judgment.
As though my life depended on it, I waited for Francis’ answer, hanging onto every breath he took before replying, “Of course.”