Lost Melody

Songs of Hope

"How did the ball go?" asked Kiara, who was also dressed up in a beautiful yellow gown. Roses decorated her dress, her hair tied up in an elegant updo. Camellia sat down next to her in the drawing, and began to recount everything that had happened. Arthur and Isaac, who had halted their game of chess to watch, both looked dizzy at the speed her hands moved. But Kiara simply nodded.

"I didn't expect Mozart of all people to stand up for you like that," she muttered audibly.

"Wolfie?" asked Arthur, his interest piqued. Camellia swore she could see dog ears standing up on his head. "What did he do?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," said Mozart, walking in and throwing Arthur a death glare. He then shifted that look to Camellia. "Don't you have better things to do than story-telling?"

'A bit of women gossiping hurt no one.' Kiara nodded in agreement.

"Don't act like old ladies so soon."

'If we're talking about age, you're older than both of us combined,' Camellia shot back.

"Are you two arguing?" asked le Comte, walking in and looking between Mozart and Camellia. Camellia looked at Mozart, who looked away. "And here I thought you'd bond a bit after the ball."

'Mozart is like a prickly hedgehog.'

"Trust me," said Isaac, who shifted his gaze to the chessboard to avoid eye contact with Camellia, "Hedgehogs are less prickly than him."

'Look at that, you're worse than a hedgehog.' Mozart grabbed Camellia's hands and pushed her back against the couch, and she smiled soundlessly.

Everyone else watched in stunned silence.

"Mozart touching someone is unheard of," said Kiara, voicing all their thoughts.

"I literally danced with her!" he said, looking annoyed.

Arthur gave him a look of disbelief. "Uh-huh."

Mozart gave him an icy glare, but Arthur simply smiled.

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Camellia stood out in the garden that night, trying to get the words past her throat, but it didn't work. All that happened was that she sounded like a dying duck. Again, her throat ached as though something were trapped in it, and she started crying in frustration, when someone wordlessly rubbed her back. Wiping her eyes as fast as was humanly possible, she turned to see Mozart, who looked down on her gently. His eyes held no trace of a smile, but they were still tender.

Camellia realized there was no music dancing in the wind, and the windows of the music room had been thrown open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

"I saw you from there," he confirmed, a hand still gently rubbing her back. "You're not okay."

And Camellia began crying again, hiding her face as she did, and he drew her to him—drew her tears to his impeccable white shirt, the shirt Camellia knew he hated getting stains on. He didn't say anything else, but just held her, as tremors of pain rocked her whole body.

All she wanted was to sing.

Mozart escorted her to her room, and took a seat by her bedside, a hand in her hair until sleep had a hold on her.

'Are we friends?'

He smiled at her sleepy sign. "Consider it an honor."

And she smiled too.

The next morning, a tray of chocolate sat on her bedside table, but there was no note. Camellia had an inkling as to who it was, and wondered what she could do for the prickly hedgehog in return. She popped one into her mouth, wondering if that was sweetness she could feel.

With her mood slightly lifted, she headed down to breakfast, where Kiara ushered her into her seat. Bewildered, she looked around to see most of the residents who were present—Vincent, Arthur and Napoleon—pushing trays of food at her.

'You do remember I can't taste anything, right?'

"But we couldn't think of a better way to cheer you up at breakfast," said Vincent, looking slightly downcast.

"What if you painted her portrait?" asked Kiara.

"I don't think she'd have the patience to sit still for that long," said Arthur, who had noticed Camellia flinch slightly.

"Come to the music room," said Mozart, who had entered the dining room soundlessly and had been watching the proceedings. After he'd said that, he turned on his heel and walked out. Camellia shared a glance with the rest of the residents, and headed up to the music room, Arthur and the rest in tow. By the time they'd reached the door of the music room, Camellia swore there were three times as many people as there were in the dining hall.

"I didn't call all of you," said Mozart as they all filed in like school kids.

"Aw, don't be like that, Wolfie. You can't hog Camellia all to yourself," said Arthur, making himself comfortable against the wall. Theo stood by him.

'You wanted to see me?' she asked skeptically.

Mozart jerked his head to the piano Camellia spent the most time on. "Play. I'll accompany you," he said, pulling out a violin.

Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Well, he probably knew what he was doing. 'Which song?'

"Anything," he said, a smile touching the corner of his lips. "Don't underestimate me."

A hush fell over the residents, and Napoleon broke the silence. "He smiled."

Mozart's smile vanished as fast as it had appeared.

Camellia did as Mozart said, and took a seat on the piano bench. What was she feeling today? Horrified. The ballroom had left her with some bitter and sweet memories that she couldn't express fully.

She played her own song, one that took the music of a ballroom and turned it into something only the dead would dance to. Mozart watched for a second, and the strains of the violin joined her tune. Despite having never heard the song, he played along beautifully, and his eyes were on Camellia's hands, not even on his own. She shifted tunes, switching to a ballroom song, and he smiled, changing scales immediately.

As their song ended, silence reigned for a mere second before their audience clapped. Mozart and Camellia looked at each other, and Camellia took a second to analyze her own feelings. Relief. Something stronger took over her heart, something like a rose blooming in the middle of winter.

"What was the name of that song?"

'Ballroom of the Dead.'

"It wasn't bad."

'Thank you.'

Their audience had silently disappeared.

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Le Comte called Camellia to the drawing room that evening. There was no one else there, which sort of surprised her because normally you'd find someone or the other whiling away time in there. She took a seat opposite to him, wondering if she'd done something wrong.

"You don't need to look so nervous," he said, smiling.

She relaxed. Or at least pretended to. But she knew he would see right through her.

"Seeing as you're not going to relax, I'll get straight to the point." He set down his teacup. "Ma cherie, if you want to build a name as a musician in this time, I can help you."

He looked so determined, that Camellia was actually taken aback for a second. 'Where is this coming from?'

"I heard your performance with Mozart this morning. You did splendidly," he said, his gentlemanly smile decorating his face.

Camellia felt a surge of pride, as though the words had come from her own father.

"But I'll leave the choice to you. Mozart knows how hard it is to maintain a musician's splendor. If you want to give it a go, let me know."

'I'll think it over.'

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