She struck the discolored and stained ivory key. A clear not..
🕑 Added 2020-11-06 15:49:36 +0000 UTC
She struck the discolored and stained ivory key. A clear note hung in the air, smelling of forgotten memories and good wine. She was only acceptable at performing music, but even her calluses ears from years of regrettable lessons could hear the long legs of a pure note sliding down the dilapidated greenhouse glass from an instrument that was well passed retirement and into decay. The key felt lose and frail, like an aged tooth ready to fall out, any pressure would give it a lopsided grin. And yet, and yet the sound was beautifully in its prime and strong but marred in a melancholic foreboding of a life cut too short. The sensation that was supposed to be perceived in the ears, instead reverberated in her empty hallow chest. It burrowed there and seeded emotions she did not understand but were familiar with nonetheless. With her eyes closed she could picture the beauty of the greenhouse, carefully groomed and loved, appreciated by even the most skeptical eye. Rare white and pink snapping flowers impregnating the air with aromas that tugged at her heart. The fresh smell of peat and dirt revived stories of faeries and tales long forgotten. Vines crept in between panes of glass hiding all unnatural structures from view and scrubbed away the world outside, leaving only this mystical and ancient connection to a place unlike any other.
