White Violin

15. Cake

Our teacher Lucy came back in the morning for violin practice. During the lesson, I tried to ask her about the white violin in the music room, but she said it was only a decoration. Marie didn't seem to care about the violin at all. I just couldn't keep my eyes away from the violin while I was there. I could see its form, but why do my fingers go through it? Even if it was a painting, I should still be able to touch its surface. 

I dared not touch it again, not because they might be looking, but because I would have to deal with this nerve-wracking situation anew. It would be much easier for me now, without confirmation, to dispel it as a dream. 

We didn't really eat meals together. The maid usually serves it to our rooms when we need it. This is especially true for Marie and our teacher Lucy who likes to have flexible practicing sessions.

When the maid came to my room to serve me lunch today though, she presented a red cake on the plate. I didn't recall that she served any desserts in any meals so far, so it caught me by a bit of surprise of this sudden luxury. 

"Please enjoy your meal," she said as usual, succinctly, and placed the plate on the table.

But before she nodded and left, she flashed me a warm smile.

The meal itself tasted bland and usual. I was left with the cake and I wondered whether I should finish it. It was definitely bad manners to leave something uneaten and return it to the kitchen, but there was something daunting about the its eerie red tint. 

This warm redness didn't struck me as danger, but in reverse familiarity. There was a certain loathe expanding in my chest in the face of my own affiliation with this colour. I raised my spoon and pondered the best way to eradicate this repulsive instinct.