~𝒩𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒢𝑜~

19. Let Me Hear You

(Didn't expect to have this chapter done till next week but I got inspired! Enjoy!)

Y/N's POV

A ravishing rhapsody of piano keys echoes in the circular room as if the notes themselves can't help but swirl and dance in some celebration of the glory of the women playing the piano.

With my legs bent in front of me and knees positioned at acute angles on an ice-made couch overlaid with animal pelts, my body is tight, my heart is beating to the beautiful bright song, and my mind is in a spiral of desire; my stomach constricts and the room is swept away in a tide of music, so ethereal angels can't obtain such grace. Away from any sorrows that plague my mind, there is only one thought in me—her—Elsa.

From ten feet away, I am in wonder at what has to be a descendant of Euterpe or at least one of the music goddesses to exist.

Watching the Queen of Snow play a grand piano of ice has to be one of the highlights of my life. All the little details of this perfect picture—of her, how her braid swishes with her maneuvering and bobbing head as her back sways side to side as she reaches the differentiating dark and light ice-colored keys. Then how her slender arms extend and stretch across the length of all the keys to utilize the full range of the piano so that her dainty fingers may work a new kind of magic that directly envelopes my heart.

The room glows with light blue hues that make the smooth top of Elsa's piano a mirror to reflect her focused features. The little expressions of being consumed by the quell of the music. Her face remains poised, yet her sharp jaw slacks, and her lips, usually in a line, are now barely parted and her bottom lip slightly puckered out.

As she breathes through her nose, it slightly wrinkles, and her focused eyes shift from one length of the piano to the other with the precision she uses when using her powers. And that is what she is creating now—bouncing off the chandelier hanging from the domed ceiling overhead and off the ice shelves lined with actual books with foxed pages about music and piano—Elsa is creating magic, without magical powers but with talent.
In the almost glowing reflection of the blue hues of the castle, I observe how her eyes fixate on the light and dark ice of the piano. How her fingers skillfully dance as she continues to play another song.

Out of all the places or activities that Elsa could have shown me, I expected her to serenade me least of all. With my breath shallow and my eyes glassy, I allow myself to find some peace in the music, forget about my problems, and rest after a day out in the snow, hunting and meeting Warren and his men.

And just as I think that this moment can't get any better, her lips part ever so sensually, and Elsa starts to sing softly.

"I was looking for a breath of life," she begins, her voice just a whisper over the keys,
"For a little touch of heavenly light,
But all the choirs in my head sang,"
No, oh oh oh,
To get a dream of life again
A little vision of the start and the end
But all the choirs in my head sang, no, oh oh oh"

Her voice slowly rises in volume and deep longing. Snow swirls around on the floor, not in a frightening gale of snow as I have seen before, but moving from the ground in glistening gems, rising and falling with the notes and tones of Elsa's voice.

"But all I need is one more touch
A little taste of your heavenly rush."
My cheeks are on fire with my eyes wide watching Elsa; her cheeks are pink as well, and her motions are as fluent as a flurry of snow in the wind as the moving snow in the room.

Entranced as if my pupils are hearts, I stand up from the couch to slowly walk behind the beauty as she continues to sing.

"And I believe, I believe it's so, oh oh oh And I needed one more touch. Another taste of divine rush And I believe, I believe it's so, oh oh oh"