Demons (Damirae)

Chapter Sixty-Three

Damian's fingers trailed along the edge of the box and he contemplated opening it. It had been forever and a minute since he'd last played, yet each movement has been worn in to his hands and fingers with time. There would be no trouble therein. Decision made, Damian lifted the lid, revealing the masterfully crafted instrument within.

Raven's unexpected yet wholly appreciated gift was a thing of beauty, and its sound would no doubt be of the same calibre. There was one way to determine that- to play it. Drawing a thumb along the strings, Damian ascertained that the violin was in tune, adjusting ever so slightly the four tuning knobs to achieve the desired sounds. Any external aid wasn't needed- if the League of Assassins was good at one thing, it was drilling in to the minds of the assassins. Gods have mercy if Damian ever missed a note in front of an instructor.

Withdrawing the bow from the box, Damian verified that the hairs were taught, twisting the silver at the bow's end as he had done the tuning knobs. Once more satisfied, Damian sighed, securing the violin in his left hand and the bow, sure to spread his fingers along the bow grip.

Raising the instrument and resting it on his shoulder, Damian stood, a chill running through his spine as his bare feet met the bedroom floor- which the opened window had chilled: he was cooling himself down after two hours training. The crisp air flooded his lungs as Damian breathed in and gushed out as he exhaled.

Every violinist who hasn't reached the stages beyond intermediacy always keeps their eyes trained on the fingers on the neck of the violin- they don't know how to play well enough to know where to place their fingers instinctively. Damian was no amateur nor an intermediate violinist. The song he wished to play was set in his mind like carvings in stone- a fraction eroded with time, yet plain as day. This was a song he'd played a millions times before; one he would play a million times again.

The bow was lain by the A string, bouncing just the slightest. Posture impeccable, Damian drew his arm back, a loud note resonating within the room. For for beats it lasted, then he stopped, shook his head, let the violin fall so that he held it only by the neck, and paced about the room. Wearing the wooden floorboards thin, Damian relentlessly shook his head, muttering to no one.

"غبي غبي غبي!...يا ربي دخيلك!..."
(Stupid stupid stupid...God please!...")

Huffing, Damian regarded the violin in his hand, memories flying through his mind like debris in a hurricane. It had been so long...so, so long, yet his recollection was as ripe as ever. Perfection. He had to perform to perfection. Whether sparring or dancing or playing an instrument, perfection was a standard requirement. What a failure he would be if perfect was not achieved.

Damian slumped on to his bed, the violin and bow resting besides him. Head lulling, he stared out of the uncovered window, eyes trailing over the spiky outline of evergreens in the distance, bathed in the moon's silvery glow.

Ghosts played on his mind.

What had he done with himself? How far this current Damian had fallen from the one trained to take the mantle of Ra's al Ghul. That disciplined nature he once held had slipped so far. If he'd dared to train less than seven hours totally in a day a few years ago, he'd have withered in shame. Now...

He sat up, viewing the gifted violin.

He had become so much more trusting, not in everyone, but in the ones closest to him. How could a person turn from rejecting any form of emotion contact, to relying on the safety and security of another. In the room besides his rested a person who'd infiltrated the walls of his heart and slipped through the cracks in the stone. Talia would carve his heart out had she known...or not been away from the land of the living. But demons and their kin were notoriously driven by lust, and all too often amongst their kind, that lust could grow to something more. Circumstance and situation had brought an Al Ghul and a half-demoness together, it was a story repeated again and again throughout Preternatural history.