Spontanéité

River flows in you // short story

I ended up writing a bit of historical fiction, when really I just felt like writing after hearing the piano piece by Yiruma (River Flows in You- see above video). So it's supposed to be set some time during the French Revolution, something I know nothing about (although I did read A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens and that has stuff about it in it, I can't remember a thing, really. Aside from the guillotining and takedown of the royals- but I already knew that.) Anyway, hope you guys like it.
***

Her fingers tap against the pieces, not pressing enough that any make a sound as she mouthes the words to herself, the tune rippling through her mind. She's been sitting there in the silence for some time now, although the silence is not complete. There is the occasional hurried clicking of heels down the hallway, or the shuffling of feet. The occasional cough, sniffle or sneeze. None of those sounds linger long. Not like the rain does, trickling steadily down the huge glass windowpanes and drumming on the surface of the roof above.

When the rain stops, utter nothingness falling into its place, her hands shift and she straightens. Closing her eyes, she begins to play.

The melody, formed by the separate notes of different shades, echoes in her ears and mind, and floods the room's expanse. It's a nameless song, all but forgotten to the era she lives in now, and she wonders where her grandfather learnt it, how he could have managed to impart the precious ancient knowledge to her before passing on. How he remembered the lyrics so well.

Her fingers have grown deft and nimble, agile and calloused over the years of unwavering practice. They are not the soft child's-fingers they were the day she first touched the keys, her grandfather guiding hands she had initially crashed all over them, the discordant noises merciless.

This is the song she heard upon waking, this is the song she heard before closing her eyes, whether he was visiting or in his home far away. It remained in her ears, a permanent memory, a resident of her mind determined never to move out. Determined to make its way through her nerves, her veins, her fingers, into and onto the black and white whenever the opportunity arose.

When the song ends, her fingers stilling, her hands hovering, the rain starts.

Someone knocks softly on the door she locked, hours before, and she withdraws her hands, rising to her feet.

"Adeline?" The voice is tentative, hushed, low, as if not wanting to be heard by anyone but the girl being addressed.

She moves across the space to unlock the door, her steps slow and deliberate.

Adeline blinks at the sight of the girl, not the boy she was expecting. "Elise, I thought you were-"

"Can you play again?"

She hesitates. "Your brother," she starts, but the child shakes her head.

"Bastien is on the other side of the house. He won't hear." It's a blatant lie, told terribly unconvincingly, but she sighs and nods once, and Elise grins delightedly, skipping across the marble floor to settle comfortably in the seat. "Can you teach me?" she asks eagerly.

Satisfied with the click indicating the door is locked again, Adeline sighs, sliding onto the seat beside her friend. "I don't know..."

"Please please please please pleeaase?" she begs, dark brown eyes imploring as she pouts.

She frowns. "Elise..." Her voice holds warning.

Elise crosses her arms, eyebrows furrowed. "Fine," she grumbles, slouching. Adeline touches the small of the younger girl's back, and she shrieks, giggling as she straightens her back, arching it away from her friend's hand.