Your fingers fly over the black and white keys with a clumsy grace that does not serve to please; not your irritable instructor.
"No! No, no, no, stop Mikaela! Stop this instant," she orders waspishly.
You cease playing wearily as she stalks to the grand piano from across the room. Her heels click menacingly on the cream parquet floor and her jacket lapels flutter with her step as she fixes you with an intimidating glare.
"Your fourth stumble over that F. Will you please concentrate and remember to play that as F sharp?" she snaps.
You lower your head ashamedly. "Yes, Madame Lee," you mutter, smoothing the sheet music.
"Let's try that again. And, play with fluidity at the speed of andante please. Evenly."
"Yes Madame."
Your piano teacher is not someone to be messed with. Though petit and slim, as well as acquiring an increasing amount of grey hair, Madame Lee is still one of the most strict and scariest teachers you've ever met. From her haughty gait to the way she holds her head high, it's obvious that age does not hinder her, and from personal experience, it's evident as well in her loud voice.
You resume playing, timidly at first, and then more confidently. But Madame Lee is not satisfied. "Again! With alacrity at the start and a smooth transition at the bridge! Again!"
Sighing, you position your fingers yet again to play, but she suddenly silences you with a wave of her hand. "We are out of time. I shall see you next week. Do practice hard; though we may need more luck than skill with you," she says harshly, adjusting her black wire-rimmed glasses before striding out.
You collapse at the piano in the deserted studio room and exhale loudly. The moonlight is filtering through the silky chiffon curtains, and slanted silver beams appear across the room in a soothing pattern.
Defeatedly, you step open the glass French doors out onto the balcony into the fresh air of the cool night. You lean on the pearly marble balustrade and gaze at the stunning night. The inky sky is dotted with innumerable constellations of sparkling stars. They glitter like diamonds; precious jewels set in a backdrop of the darkest velvet.
The smooth white stone under your hands is cool and refreshing yet cannot ease the turmoil in your mind. When will you be able to finally meet the expectations of Madame Lee. Will such a thing ever happen?
Tonight does not provide the answers, and you turn away, returning to the grand room. You exit silently, pulling your thick coat closer to you and drawing the gilded ivory-white doors closed. You quietly proceed down the hallways, past the elegant paintings and blooming flower vases placed at intervals down the corridors, and eventually leaving the majestic building of Amadeus Academy.
~
You stand in front of Studio #5 and take a deep breath. Well, here goes nothing. You've practiced diligently, like any other week, but they do little to raise the opinion of Madame Lee. And you see today as no different.
As you play, your instructor tuts and waves her hands about, making you slow and stop.
"No, no, no. It," She jabs at the sheet music emphatically. 'clearly says pianissimo and not piano. Softer, lighter, chaster, please. Again from bar 27!'
The rest of the lesson goes similarly to that, with Madame Lee pointing out mistakes and flaws in all aspects; posture, dynamics, rhythm etc. It's entirely exhausting. By the time the teacher has finally left, you feel drained.
The door clicks lightly, making you turn around. It's a handsome guy, who looks around the same age as you, with fluffy brown hair and dark eyes.
