Her fingers glistened over the keys as she formed the music, moulding it like a potter would his proudest work. Her breath, which brought about the music, filled the room like so much perfume, bringing with it a lingering sense of nostalgia, pure beauty, and somehow, deep sadness.
He clutched to the keyhole, the cold metal kissing his ear as her music slowly drifted towards him. He drank in every drop of the musical liquid, which soothed his body and mind as he heard this beautiful, tangible tone.
Pressing his eye to the peephole, he saw her there, his heart filling with admiration and a slight pride at hearing his beautiful girl’s playing. As his sight lingered, he saw the sound congregate on her cheek in a single, forlorn teardrop. Slowly, the music turned from bright to macabre, and somehow the tune filled him, but left a gaping hollow. Colour drained from the world around her as suddenly, her instrument glowing a soft silver in the monochromatic air.
He watched as a crack snaked down her porcelain face. She seemed so delicate, and as that crack became darker and deeper he saw a side of her that he had never had the honour or privilege to witness.
The music fell and swayed, as unpredictable as the ocean waves. It raised a wind, above his head, and caressed his cheeks, a soft and gentle butterfly, little drops of rain, green blades of grass. The breeze created by her melody breathed colour and life back into the room, bringing cheer to a once hopeless place.
The last few notes lingering on his ear, and little drops resting on his open lips, he stands as she puts away the music-maker, and he wanders off, not wanting to be caught, the music trailing him like pixie dust.