God's gift

Concert

Hey, extra long chapter today compared to usual because I wno't be available this week end. I'll study fibromyalgia in Paris (with the best of the best) and am looking forward to it !

The music washed over her like a soothing calm, healing her soul to the very core. Too bad the benevolent vibrations couldn't heal her muscles as well. Frances was still stiff, her calves so tender that she could barely move them around. The flu had caught her right after a brutal session of exercise, the soreness caused by the virus catalysed by the already aching muscles. Never before had she limped –positively LIMPED! – from the flu. But there she was, sitting on a normally comfortable chair, feeling like she'd been run over by a truck. And to think it was the fourth day... Damn. The flu had got her rather viciously this time.

Still, she couldn't have missed this concert for the world. In the mighty cathedral, the voices rose and fell like an autumn wind, the ballet of intertwined chorists more beautiful than the dancing leaves outside. It only added to the intrinsic beauty of the building, pulling Frances far, far away from her everyday concerns. It could have been angels, singing and laughing over her shoulder; their voices wrapped her in a blanket of benevolence. It didn't matter that she attended alone – it was but half an hour drive from her place – nor that father Tristan, who had told her he was here, was nowhere in sight. It didn't matter than she'd been sick like a dog, or that she would have to slave to catch up on the classes she missed. Neither the ugliness of the world, nor its stench of money reached her within the walls of the cathedrals, for Angels were protecting it.

Their plea vibrated in her body; Frances closed her eyes. She felt like she was bathed in light, caressed by higher beings. Hope bloomed in her chest, hope that perhaps, she could find her place in the world. So beautiful, so soft, so caressing. And when the lead soprano performed one last Ave Maria, her tone so pure, tears leaked from Frances' eyes. She didn't even try to hide them; she wasn't the only one moved by the purity of that woman's voice. A stunned silence followed this last piece before thunderous applause exploded.

Frances followed the sea of people out of the church, her mind still blown away by the beauty of what she had witnessed. So it was without surprise that it took three times before she recognised the voice that was calling her name in the background. The young woman started, then frowned as she stiffly turned around. Father Tristan was a few feet away, his gaze boring holes into her. He jogged lightly to greet her, a gentle smile on his face.

— "Hello, Frances. I am glad you could attend, did you enjoy the performance?"

For a moment, the young woman's brain refused to function and she could only stare as the man's eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

— "Frances?"

— "Ah. Yes. Sorry. I'm still a little out of it. It was ... magnificent. Thank you for the tip"

The priest considered her strangely, then nodded.

— "Yes. They tend to have this effect."

— "I wish I could sing like this. This Ave Maria ... she gave me goosebumps."

A faint eyebrow rose upon his forehead, losing itself in the loose strands of his chestnut hair. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he responded.

— "Did you ever try?"

— "Uh"

She couldn't possibly respond yes or no, because she thoroughly enjoyed singing in the shower. Or without a shower. Her best vacation time used to be the days when she locked herself in the attic with her younger cousin, singing all the discs of their favourite artists. And truth be told, Frances knew that if she warmed up enough, she could sing rather nicely. But this ... this was other worldly. And not only because of the chorist's technique, which had been flawless. The strength of their message, this hope she had felt could only come from the heart. Such a performance was out of reach... Wasn't it?