the violin and the tree || glory & collin

pt one, glory

song -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NmeClgZxWwU

The treehouse was hidden to all the residents in Glory's town, but a select two people.

Glory had found the tree when she was seven years old, during a failed game of hide-and-seek with her mother. Peppered with orange blossoms that never ripened into the luscious fruit, the gentle perfume was barely noticeable but enthralling all the same.

It overlooked a valley, full of lush greenery during the flowering season and a golden-tipped field during the colder months. The first thing she had thought was of the aura of enchantment it possessed, and held back none of her enthusiasm when her mother eventually found her.

She had immediately requested a treehouse be built on top, right in the middle of its spindly, leafy branches. Her mother had finished it in no less than three days; Glory's awe could only be understood by someone of her own age. The structure was perfectly quaint; the base made of birchwood, canopied with a soft yellow quilt that was protected by a thicket of branches during the rainy weeks of winter. It seemed to emanate a sense of lightness-- at least, that was how Glory saw it.

Nearly eight years later, she still practically lived there during her summer vacation away from school. Her mother never forced her on any summer camps, so she spent most of her free time in the treehouse. Its location was a sworn secret; she hadn't even brought her closest friends there.

Until one clouded day in the April of her freshman year, a visitor had stumbled across her haven.

* * *

Glory had been on one of her more idle days. Most of the time she would bring along her books or play her violin, but today she was in a more relaxed mood. Simply sitting and letting her head float up to the clouds was what she was content with.

The sound of footsteps other than her own didn't shock her at first; it must be her mother, visiting to pass on some news from the east coast. But Glory had known those steps for years, and these were different. Lighter somehow, and more cautious. This was someone new.

Moving quietly to the rope ladder, Glory pulled it up as silently as she could. Then she peeked over the small window, eyes widening at the sight of the visitor.

He was not out of the ordinary in terms of appearance. Short, black hair cut close to his head, with a pair of squarish glasses. His outfit consisted of a pair of comfy-looking black sweats, with a brown tee from a brand Glory didn't recognize.

The strange thing about him was his expression. His eyes shone with a kind of mild yet unending curiosity, a dampened desire to learn, complemented by an intelligence separate from the brainiacs at her school. No wonder his steps were so light; he reminded Glory of the sparrows that fluttered around her branches in the spring.

He carried nothing other than a simple leather-bound notebook, and a silver pen he was spinning in his right hand. To Glory's relief he had not spotted her nor the treehouse, and was simply going to lean on its trunk.

A few minutes passed without any strange occurrences, so Glory began to relax a little. Maybe he'd left; it was as silent as if she were alone. Perhaps she could practice her violin without any interruption.

Reaching across to her case, she snapped it open and lifted the wooden miracle out of its velvet pillow. It was a gift to her from her grandfather, the eccentric that he was. Strangely enough, she didn't even play the violin until she had received one. That was when she got so excited to learn, to finally be able to use the beautiful creation that had been collecting dust in her closet for so long.

Now she knew every inch of its strings, every crevice and crack in the varnish. It was truly hers, in more than just a superficial ownership.

Taking out its brother, the bow, she ran her fingers along the fragile hairs as a habit. Sitting cross-legged, she raised the bow to the violin's bridge and began to play her favorite tune.

Although it was not meant for the violin, Reverie never ceased to move her. Without its accompaniment, Glory was left to imagine the chorus of instruments sighing out their melodies in the wildflowers and the sunlight.