Fantasie-Impromptu

XV. Winter Wind

It sounds a bit cliché to start with this, but the dreaded time had finally come. A small peek through the curtains would mean you a scene of zilch. Nothing. Nada. Zero visibility had been forecasted as the windows would rattle in the slightest bit with a sound he'll never forget, and Fryderyk would have been curled up in a worrisome ball underneath the blankets at this point, but he wasn't.

Fryderyk had probably experienced a storm stronger than this back home in Poland, but the chills undoubtedly were starting to get to him. Though they weren't chills from the cold environment, no, they were chills his heart brought. A sought after feeling ever since Franz left him - the longing for a warmth that would start not with a blazing fire from the furnace, but with a hopeful candle in his heart.

There was not much left for Fryderyk to do, really, other than to pray and wait for the storm to pass, but something about this nothingness made him itch. Arguably, a lot of people would take that Fryderyk probably does nothing everyday in the first place, aside from being miserable, if you would even call that an activity, but something about the storm kept scratching at the back of Fryderyk's head.

He thought sleeping in to wait for the storm to pass was an okay idea, so he'd toss and turn in bed and try to get some sleep instead, but for some reason his eyes would just refuse to close, and his mind would be too awake to even grant him a little bit of rest. As expected the lights had gone out a little bit before the storm had started, so all Fryderyk had now was a candle and some flashlights. The central heating was out too but thankfully his flat had double-layered windows, so with a few blankets and a comforter, he should be... fine. Or at least he had hoped so.

But as he turned to lie on his side, Fryderyk would unknowingly catch himself staring at the dimly-lit melting candle that he had positioned near his window. The small flame was flickering. Sparking with the damp wick as the candle was probably made in a rush. He didn't know why, but the light seemed to draw him in like a moth. Like it spoke to him. Like the sparks were the candle's screams for something bigger.

Fryderyk was now entranced. He would draw closer, nearer, until the small warmth from the candle would finally be felt on his skin. There was no other way to describe the situation. Fryderyk was sorrowful. He felt dejected and regretful. He felt depressed, downcast, and his heart was just straight up miserable. Fryderyk was sad.

But along the sadness came something else within Fryderyk. A new feeling started to brew. Something like an intoxicating potion in the bold colour of red, perhaps. But not the same red you'd see in the sweetness of your lover's kisses. It was not the same red you'd feel when you'd be lying in bed embarrassed after a climax. It was not the same red you'd see on someone's lips - the lips you wouldn't mind getting drunk to all day long. No.

It was a darker shade of red. It was a miserable kind of red. It was a hot and painful kind of red. The kind of red that could come out of one thing and one thing only - anger.

Fryderyk felt betrayed. And slowly this angry feeling grew. With the lack of sufficient information despite all they've been through with Franz, Fryderyk thought this was unfair. Sure, maybe there was an emergency, but now, this just felt so ridiculous to him! Not even a letter? Not even a little hello in some other way? It's literally the 21st century! What's stopping Franz from doing anything?

And in the same turn, what's stopping Fryderyk? What's stopping Fryderyk from achieving what he's always wanted? What's stopping him from composing something new? Something revolutionary? Fryderyk is so sick of always being sad now.

He's sick of constantly depending on someone else to lift his spirits up. His entire life, he's only been hurt, betrayed, taken for granted, and alone. People leave - they always do - and now Fryderyk has realized that it isn't something he can control. So why focus on the inevitable?

If Franz wants to leave, let him, but Fryderyk will not let himself be stopped by something so petty. Not anymore. Love? What a joke! I've given you my utmost effort, and you've made me into something I never would have thought I'd ever be. I've changed for you. I've learned to do things like read silly books for you. I've learned to laugh at your stupid jokes. I've learned to smile when I see my name misspelled in the most horrid way possible. "Shohppan" - The disrespect! But now...

But now I've learned something else. I've seen something else. I've seen how cruel love can be. I've seen how cruel you can be, Franz. And I've seen how stupid I've been for falling for your childish games. Your flirty words and charming smiles. I will no longer be victim to your traps, Franz. You will no longer be the predator to my prey.

So now, I'll stop learning from you. I'll teach myself to be independent. I'll write music so profound you'll wish you never left. I'll rise to the top while you stay where you are as you gawk at me in awe. The me you left all alone in this winter storm, crying for your embrace.

I will no longer be pathetic. Let the storm come. Let the wind blow. Let the cold freeze back this melting heart that once was yearning for yours. Let the natures of the world hit me with its best shot. And watch me turn all of its forces into music. Watch me turn this melancholy into art. This anger. This pain. Watch me transform from pathetic to shit hot. Watch me write out this Winter Wind.

And when the candle that drew Fryderyk in at that moment went out, the sound of the cold wind and rattling windows were no longer any source of fear for this man. The pains of the past were now forms of inspiration.

And so, Fryderyk wrote his music, no longer as the Freddy somebody else once knew, but as Fryderyk Chopin, the soon to be world-renowned Polish nationalist composer and virtuoso pianist who would write primarily for solo piano. For his piano. The piano he now tells all the things he used to tell to Franz.

~~~~~

"... great outbursts of creativity alternate with feelings of extreme melancholy..."

-Brenda Lane Richardson

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hello I am back :"))

I am not dead aha just a bit slow :")) and maybe busy... ill be going off to college next year and I'm currently looking for international scholarships in my program (hopefully I can find one and get in), anyway,,,

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 2K READSSSS AAAA I NEVER EXPECTED THIS FIC TO GO THIS FAR BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH IT RLLY MEANS A LOT AND YOUR COMMENTS ARE JUST THE BEST AAAA

ive been getting a handful of ppl thinking I'm abandoning this story, ABSOLUTELY NOT OMG I WOULD NEVER LIKE JUST NO. THE LACK OF LISZT CHOPIN FICS OUT THERE??? AND IM ABANDONING THIS??? I HAVE TO BE OUT OF MY MIND FIRST BEFORE I DO THAT SDFGHJKL I've just been a bit preoccupied by a number of things recently but I hope that clears things up.

also, for the old readers who have read that Liszt went to Germany in the previous chapters, I revised them to say that he didn't. So for present context, no, Franz did NOT "canonically (in this fic)" go to Germany, he simply "went home". Whether or not this "home" is in Germany or in some other place like Hungary, etc. is completely up to your imagination.

Thank you for making it this far! Please do vote and share if you enjoyed this and don't hesitate to leave comments!

- Fei Mimi