She learned it the hard way. Some people were never meant to exist. Not even the Doctor wants her as a companion. But then the Master saves her from certain death and discovers that this human girl might be of more use to him than he expected.
Ranki...
Slight trigger warning for those of you that aren't comfortable with that sort of thing. There is some slight (not very graphic) sexual content in the last part of this chapter. So, stop reading after Lucy wants to leave the piano and you're good. ;D
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I couldn't sleep. Of course I couldn't. Too much was running through my head, too many unanswered questions, too many fears.
So I did what I always ended up doing, grabbing a hoodie and stepping outside to be greeted by a knowing hum of the TARDIS. I only huffed and smiled at the playful nudge, as if she wanted to tease me for my behaviour. The golden path appeared slowly in front of my feet and guided me through a set of unfamiliar corridors. They seemed to be made of bright wooden panels instead of the usual metal. Not the most unusual material I had ever seen in here, but definitely new and sparking curiosity in me.
The door I ended up in front of was made of dark wood, adorned with an elegantly designed petal knob. My hand already rose to knock when I made out the faint sounds of music. A piano, for sure, its tone hauntingly sad, dripping from the keys like raindrops and memories. I hesitated for a bit, then decided to simply slip in as quietly as possible.
The room was big enough to give the instrument a nice acoustic, but not huge or pompous. More like a large living room. There were shelves with books and a big old leather sofa with a small dark table in front of it. The floor was carpeted, silencing my steps as I walked closer to the middle of the room where the piano stood proud and black and with its wing opened. Candles on its case were the only source of light in the room, their faint glow keeping the corners in a hazy darkness while illuminating the middle just enough to reveal the notes on the papers.
Not that they were used, I supposed. The Master sat on the piano stool, wearing his usual attire of black and red, his posture oddly relaxed and his fingers flying over the keys in a way that was only possible through years and probably even centuries of experience. I sneaked closer, carefully sitting on the sofa and, since I didn't wear shoes anyway, drawing my knees up under my chin, simply listening, watching.
The melodies were entirely foreign to me, probably not even stemming from earth. And why would they? Each key was played with care, each note telling a story of their own, letting images spark in my mind, incoherent collections of colours and impressions, the smells of long forgotten memories.
So enchanted was I that it took me several seconds to realise that the music had stopped, its echoes still reverberating through the room. I looked up and met the Master's gaze, unreadable in the dim candle light.
"Didn't know you can play so well," I mumbled with a smile. "Sorry, didn't want to bother you."
"That's a lie," he answered, arching an eyebrow. "The TARDIS wouldn't have brought you here, otherwise." For once he didn't sound pissed about the fact, more amused.
