| By : ( Posted on :20 Sep, 2005 ) | Total Views : 782 | Previous | Next |
His fingers danced absently over the violin strings. His bow moved in tandem with each note that his fingers positioned themselves to play. Elegant, melancholy music filled the room, and left through the windows to waft out into the still night. He played as his heart willed; he was beyond mere emulation. An indescribable emotion welled out from each bar, intricately strung like exquisite silver pearls, on a fragile piece of thread. And yet, he was unaware; his mind was elsewhere, on a lost love not ever regained. She was Beauty as she was the moon, unattainable, and oh so glorious, so pure. His love for her brought him untold suffering, for she always remained what she was - a mystery. The music grew intense; his eyes drew close in pain, a solitary tear made its way down his cheek. The night seemed to darken in empathy and all noise had ceased. His fingers pressed down hard on the strings, urging them to finer action, a hint of blood showed on his fingertips. His shoulder ached, but he cared not. This was his Ode to the Enchantress, to the woman who shattered his being, who tore at his soul, who left without a loving word. The music reached its shuddering climax, and then his physical torment caught up with him; he flung aside his violin carelessly, and left the bow by its side. The delicate thread was broken, its pearls left to roll to the dark, unreachable corners of the room, never to be found again.
