Graf Shuvalov
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Every Step Taken; Chapter Two

user image 2012-09-09
By: Graf Shuvalov
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The music filled my ears, my mind raced with memories, my heart with feelings. When my mind is tense, I often play the flute; the music always lifted and brought eased to me, as it did when I was youngerbut tonight was different. The sky around the island drifted from its pleasant warmth and light, to a cold masscloaking the island ina lifeless darkness. I tried to bring comfort to the evening, a fire crackled behind me, music to uplift my spirit, but it was to no effect. Memories replayed, running across my mind, haunting me.


It was not long before the fire burned out, leaving small flames and a haunting glow about my apartment. My music itself, took a sadder tonea reflection of my sadden heart. As I gazed out the window into an endless sea, I could see nothing but her face. Her brilliant smile was etched into my mind each time lightning struckthe dark clouds assembling reminded me of her dark hair. The sea itself was transformed, glittering but dark, with splits of light of a moon hidden behind clouds, the sea reminded me of her eyes.

I closed my eyes, to drown in the melancholic music, but I saw her dance. Dressed in a sumptuous red gown, she danced as if her feet never touched the ground, floating about, as a graceful as a swan. She turned, and swayed to the music, her gown flowing as she twirled, her jewels glittered, but not more than her beauty. She took my hand, the candles burned lowmany guests had retired from the party but she was still full of life, and so we danced as the lights burned outeach step closer than the one before. I could hear her laughter, and recall my hand on her waist. It was not long before our lips met, not to be parted for some time, emotions rushing out, passion building. Little did I know this was to be the last.

Lightning flashed, exposing the tear that escaped from my eyes. I continued to play, the storm brewed outside just as terrible as the one in my mind. I remembered how she pulled away from the kiss, looking up at me with sad eyes. She spoke I must leave . I grabbed her arm, frustrated as I tried to explain Elena, dont go, you dont have too She replied sweetly I must, its getting late . We both knew it was not about the evening, it was about her departure the next day, and my own as well.

Lightning flashed again; bringing me back to my apartmentI placed my flute back into its caseand fell into the armchair. I closed my eyes and whispered to myself why did you go? Why am I so haunted by her?

I hid my face in my palms, how I wish to forget that moment in Venicethat night. She glided down the stairs, her gown flowing behind her. As she made her exist, I watched from the balcony, seeing her head into a gondola, the rising suns light causing shadows from the towering buildings, hiding her from me. Her fan you, she turned back to glance at me, her eyes barely visible above the fan. Was it love? Was it Passion? I dont know, I questioned myself over and over again, but now I wouldnt see her again. That day, I left her Villa for Meloria, as she made her way to handle family businessnot hearing a word from her since my departureperhaps it was lust of the moment that lead her to kiss mebut why did she not respond to my letters?

Aldo Stern
09 Sep 2012 11:23:41PM @aldo-stern:

Ah, that explains it. I was taking a walk the other night and thought that I heard flute music. It was quite well-played, though it had an air of...well...not melancholy, per se, . Perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as "a bittersweet wistfulness"....

It is quite pleasant; so much music at the Villa lately. This Barone Rushcliffe with his flute; and I can tell la Baronessa is back from one of her long trips, as I hear Bach being played on the cello....those same Bach pieces she is so very fond of, over and over. I do wish she would learn some Corelli or Boccherini...

Someone has been playing the harpsichord as well... and I noticed Donna Sere has put her harp in the music room.

This is good, it feels like life is coming back to la Villa Vesuviana.

Candace Ducatillon
10 Sep 2012 07:44:19AM @candace-ducatillon:

... this tale, so eloquently evoked, has me captive ...