"My two natures had memory in common."
- 83rd of Ashan, 717
- Andraska had been permitted to stay in Krome and he had come to only one conclusion during his entire visit:
- It was cursed.
“I want to see her,” he pressed one of the guards, who had repeatedly denied him access to her quarters, “Just tell her I want to talk. Is she alright?” In fact, he had felt quite helpless, but understood why no one heeded his request. There had been a traitor – an attempted murderer – in their midst. After all, he was a guest with no real authority here. No matter how much the noblewoman seemed to enjoy his company, it wasn't surprising he would be denied unless she came to him. After all, had Celeste not also trusted her hand maiden?
And so the day had passed on, leaving Andráska to do very little but roam the grounds and try not to sink further into his ever darkening thoughts. Once or twice, he offered a prayer to the immortals Pier and Pre, but the most he could do was a silent promise to the latter, 'Still alive' he mentally whispered, imagining the latter immortal in his mind, 'Any news?'
Of course, no answer.
He hadn't seen or heard anything that might suggest they had still taken an interest to him, but he could still remember the way Pre kissed his hand and made her promise. All he had to do was keep living – he had many great things to do after all... apparently. But he didn't feel great. In fact, he had slept very little given his own haunting and the stress his friend must be feeling. He wanted to do something, anything, and yet he couldn't.
It was early morn now, the sun not even having fully risen, and he paced idly down the hallways, trying to use the time for something beneficial. Down the stairs, take a right, turn around, repeat. He would sometimes curiously open a door to find a spare bedroom, or a latrine. Nothing overly dramatic, the more important things being guarded and he could feel the eyes of the servants watching him when he moved. He was learning the layout of the estate, the entry and exit points, and he returned their attention with his own, eyeing them with the assessing, silent quality of a guard. He looked for anything out of the ordinary, if the way they walked could reveal their true intentions and as he moved. Finally, as his stomach growled and he could smell the first bits of breakfast being cooked, he proceeded his exploration until he came upon a ballroom.
The curtains had just been drawn to let in whatever sunlight would soon flood in, but the room was still dim with freshly lit candles and off to the side of the room sat a piano. Andráska hesitated when he saw it, something yearning within him to approach the black and white keys. Slowly he made his way to it, looking over his shoulder conspiratorially, and then to his hand that sat resting in a sling. He had almost zero experience with the piano itself, but he needed to... play an instrument. Even with his hand. He was desperate.
Pulling out the bench, he lifted the seat and began rummaging through its content. To his delight and surprise were a number of scores, as well as a thin paperback tome for beginners. He concluded that they must have been from childhood lessons, and he quickly pulled it out and settled upon the seat, flipping open the first page.
Already having a background in reading music, it was almost too easy to get settled. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, familiarizing himself with the two clefs used in piano playing, as well as what note each key represented.
Treble. Bass. He was familiar with the bass clef, treble he was rusty on, but it was pretty much all the same. How ticky it must be to read both lines at once. And... each hand doing opposite things? He was quickly absorbed in the knowledge, fascinated at how different it was to his own musical instrument of choice, and gently lifted his good hand to press the middle C, after a brief moment to locate it.
Black keys can be sharps or flats... There were 88 keys in total. He continued to skim over the knowledge, noting the section that informed the reader of proper finger form, and made sure to practice, arching his to make a bridge, using his tips. And then, after a few more clumsy attempts, when he felt like he was beginning to grasp an understanding, he flipped the page and read over the first score. It was a lullaby, a simple tune for learners, and he hummed through it first, his foot gently tapping the ground as he read through it, just as he would for a more complicated number.
His music teacher had always said to never be embarrassed to play the basics. 'Embrace them. Love them. For they would be the foundation of your skill.' His hand caressed the keys and with one hand, he pressed downward with care, one note after another reverberating through the ballroom as a song began to brighten Krome manor, and the sun began to rise.
