Electronic fiction by ladyhildegarde
†
Conservatory
here is someone playing the pianoforte. I see her as I creep toward the door and pull it slightly ajar. She plays slowly, methodically, yet with a compulsive rhythm inborn and not learned. She postures rigidly over the keyboard, putting her entire body into the effort, though her back trembles with strain. Her movements threaten the ebony cane leaning against the piano bench.
I slip into the room, certain I will be noticed, yet uncaring. It is not until I am standing at her back that she senses my presence. She whirls quickly, the rolling melody replaced with tense silence. Her brilliant eyes swim as she glares at me, and her cheeks, framed with black ringlets, grow paler.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," I say in a low voice. "I was looking for Hildegarde."
She turns back to the keys and begins distractingly, almost frantically, to shuffle her music pieces around. "She isn't well. I haven't seen her this morning."
"Oriente. It has been long since we parted. Yet you have no greeting for me."
Abruptly she pushes back from the piano and grasps her cane, then rises, still glaring at me. She outstretches one hand toward me. "Good morning, friend."
"Friend?" I laugh softly. "Yet we parted enemies."
Her eyes are veiled as she looks at me. "I have no enemies, sir." She bows slightly: only one well-acquainted with her infirmity can know the pain her well-maintained gracefulness inflicts upon her. But her face is set as she turns from me and exits the room, leaving in her wake frigid hatred.
Rather than shiver, I smile slightly, and look after her. Then direct my attention to the piano bench, which lifts easily on a hinge. A tattered book rests inside titled Dachte.
†
© 1998-2007 by ladyhildegarde
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Last update
Monday, July 2, 2007 5:32 PM