---

Her smile gentled while her fingers danced along the keys as if it were nothing more than a second nature to her. Even for a brief moment, did the music allow her to become lost in the melody – abandoned by the thought of a crowd she knew she had no business being in attendance to. The proposal of music lessons to the Beleveron family did not go ignored, though with the preparations of this wedding, did not seem appropriate for her to provide her decision – at least not yet and even if she had one to begin with. She couldn’t help but wonder if they still sought for the possibilities of a new tutor to begin with if the lady in question was to be wed off.

Sonata listened with care and ensured to keep an even tempo. Matching along the strangers rhythm as he seemed to quickly revive his own nuances of musical memory. “Just like that.” came her soft appraisal. “Simply let the music speak through you.” she hummed. It had been some time since she was given the opportunity to perform a duet, let alone with a complete stranger. It was odd – but in a way she was determined to appreciate. Perhaps I should play more often, came his deliberations.

A mirthful chuckle escaped her lips as she nodded with agreement. “You play quite well,” Her words were filled with assured promise. The world could do with a little more music in its life, in her opinion at least. It was therapeutic in many ways and managed to bring people together familiar and not. Do you often play at such events? Her cheeks flushed nervously then as the young maiden simply shook her head. “Oh, ah, n-no not really… I don’t think I could.” She admitted sheepishly. “Besides,” followed a genial sigh. These events were a little… too frivolous to her liking. “I’d rather be around those who would actually listen to the sound, that enjoy hearing it just as much as one enjoys preforming it.” Golden gaze provoked a glimmer of lament before she realized she had been rambling on. “Ah, my apologies,” She offered an apologetic smile as she began to shuffle through the sheet music once more.

“Would you like to try another? This one my son use to enjoy quite a bit.”

---

She was quiet for a long moment, though upon the air was her calm satisfaction. A grounded sense of enjoyment that was neither overwhelming or reserved, something of endearing comfort for her. She seemed to thoroughly what she did, a sense that he could understand. When he was offered a position within the queen's army, he had leapt upon the opportunity without hesitation. In a sea of turbulence and change, it was something familiar to him. Something that had reminded him of his former life and offered an anchor in the constant maelstrom going on around him. Adjustments had to be made, both from his new disability at the time as well as the change from mortal to undead.

He didn't need to grow accustomed to wielding a sword.

“Just like that.” He would turn his head slightly to watch her and the way she allowed the hymn to carry her through the remnant of the song. “Simply let the music speak through you.” It was almost envious, this sense of ease and honesty she held about her person. All the while he was playing but another act. Should he truly allow the aria to speak, it would be far darker. It would carry a foreboding and uncertain eeriness that he felt in his bones. The creeping tides of paranoia, of discovery. No, in this time and place he could not even afford the truthfulness of music to escape him.

Her laugh was the same as striking those cords feather light, though it was not something played entirely for the company that surrounded them. “You play quite well,” at her compliment, he would merely grin, a soft expression as he turned the full of his attention back to the piano. Again her tone was genial, soft with spoken reassurance. The very same he could not spare. In recent days, he was uncertain if it was because he found those under him undeserving, or if it was merely the simple matter of the fact that he had none left to offer. "Thank you, miss." He would dip his head slightly, a show of politeness. “Oh, ah, n-no not really… I don’t think I could. Besides," he would look to her in earnest now, not to merely catch a glimpse of her from his peripherals. “I’d rather be around those who would actually listen to the sound, that enjoy hearing it just as much as one enjoys preforming it.” Another thing he could surely understand, as he would offer her another nod.

"I see your point." He also knew that back across the border, there were many such gatherings that she would enjoy then. Those who valued the strums of instruments and vocals alike. He'd been invited to such get togethers, though lounging and listening while swirling wine in his glass were not things he enjoyed. He didn't favor keeping company with any of them anymore. Everything made his skin crawl. This decadent display was a reminder of that. Something he wanted to escape. “Ah, my apologies,” He would shake his head in reposte to her apology, dismissing the idea. "Don't apologize for being passionate about something." He would watch her rummage through the papers once more upon the stand before settling on one, “Would you like to try another? This one my son use to enjoy quite a bit.” He would straighten slightly as he glanced over the notes, shifting his weight faintly. "You have children? He would  inquire, fingers finding the keys once again.

---

There was a difference when it came to playing for the sake of noise versus the sake of genuine enjoyment of playing and sharing ones music. She could sing a song or two but her nerves never could allow her to front an audience over the age of ten years, so she settled comfortably singing for her students and the youth residing in the orphanage.  I see your point. came the strangers regard to her reasons as she shuffled through music sheets whilst trying to depict the next best one. So far both shared were two favorites to name a few. Don’t apologize for being passionate about something. Cheeks would flush in demure as she offered the matching bashful smile. His words rendered a sense of familiarity. It was something she concluded Christoph would have said following his gentle suggestions for her to branch out with her vocals and music.

Adjusting the sheet music she suggested, fingers gently trailed over the parchment recollecting the distant past of her once two-almost three-year-old dancing around without direction. How it mattered not whether his feet matched the tempo of the keys but that bright silly and toothy grin following rambunctious claps her son had made when it came to listening to this particular piece, she played for him. For a moment she ran her fingers along the piano keys as if to ensure they still played just as well as it did moments ago. You have children?

The chime of the keys faded softly as golden sights settled quietly on the music. “I had a son, he would’ve been turning seven this year.” It was not often such a question would surface as if many who would have known would hesitate to ask. Digits began to sweep across the keys in gentle strokes, her motion was natural and fluid just as the previous songs before. “He loved to sit by the fire during the colder months and sing to some random tune – he was so smart too…” she hummed in lament. “Probably too smart sometimes.” She chuckled.

“And you?” She shifted her gaze slightly enough to glance at him while pay attention to the sheet music and notes all the same.

---

 
Claire De Lune

---

There was a sense upon the air, something of a sixth one that he had become particularly attuned to over the course of a long life. Perhaps it was just because this conversation felt like a script, one that was still in the process of being written, but was painfully directed in a notion he could fathom. It was the melancholy that followed his askance, one born of innocent curiosity, feigned or otherwise. He didn't look to her, he didn't need to when he heard the soft falter of the keys. It was an expression he could picture quite clearly within his cerebral prison. It was one he had seen painted upon the features of too many mothers and wives who's doors he knocked upon.

The gentle destruction ran like tendrils of black ink through the air between them, memory just as damning as it was soothing. “I had a son, he would’ve been turning seven this year.” She finally lamented, and while her fingers began to find the music painted upon the page once again, the entirety of her focus did not lie upon the song, rather the memories that it elicited. “He loved to sit by the fire during the colder months and sing to some random tune – he was so smart too…” The words were accompanied by a soft coo, a remorseful, wistful sigh of a breath exiting behind them like punctuation. Like a footnote. A eulogy etched into the beloved piece of sound. One that he shared and matched with her. His stare remained fixed upon the written concord of silent paper meant to create the melody that resonated between them. “Probably too smart sometimes.” Then she laughed, though it was small, lacking the warmth of her full simper and those golden eyes like sunlight. Luminescence he could no longer recall the heat of.

“And you?” Then they were on him, and he would give her the cut of a side ways glance from the edges of his peripherals before falling to the fleeting presence of fingertips. "I've been a soldier ever since I can remember." A truth, though the years stretched far beyond what she could probably assume at a glance. For at the moment, his skin wasn't gripped by the chill of the grave, it wasn't marred and deconstructed by maddening torture. His eyes were softer, his countenance far more jovial than the jailer. The warden. Even when a smile didn't lilt upon his features in feigned happiness, the ghost of one remained unlike the stoic distance that normally settled upon it. He wasn't Theodred here. He was Aevor. "I don't think it's the kind of occupation to have a family, because, eventually, I won't come home." Perhaps it was the most honest thing that had left his lips in the entirety of the evening or even longer. While he was often curt and blunt, it was rare for him to express anything personal. Of course, he left off the part of being denied any chance of such a thing. It hadn't mattered for quite some time if he would have even wanted a family. That chance had been robbed from him centuries ago. "My apologies, Miss. I didn't mean to darken the mood. Weddings are meant to be happy affairs."

---

If it were not for the support of her late husband who too was hurting just as much as she, Sonata could not fathom having to endure the tragedies that befell when her son’s life was taken so soon. There was a silent yearning, an eternal longing to watch the jovial exuberance of her bright-eyed boy trying to clumsily dance the waltz while her digits danced along the keys of the grand piano. There was a gentle shake to her head while silver and lilac curls bounced in unison. This was not the place to reminisce. I’ve been a soldier ever since I can remember. Her features softened, fighting the urge to rest her palm atop his – a stranger hardly known – in the act of empathy. She could not apologize on behalf of either side of the events of war. A self-proclaimed necessary evil.

Instead, she focused on the notes needing played from runs to the eloquent trills. I don’t think it’s the kind of occupation to have a family, because, eventually I won’t come home. An honest regard that would not bode well with the haughty and eager young men polished by their fathers beforehand. But it was one she was sorely familiar with and inevitably agreed to. But that did not stop the claws of war creeping ever so close. “My husband served before he died.” Her voice was quiet though she still did her best to remain trained on the music. This was not the place to shed tears of the losses she endured, a hand reaching to turn the page of the music sheet. “So, I am familiar to the grievances of the occupation bears.” She knew, and yet they still both bartered with the risks that came.

There was no resentment or apathy behind her tone. My apologies, Miss. Golden gaze shifted loftily to meet his; I didn’t mean to darken the mood. Weddings are meant to be happy affairs. Her amicable smile softened as she exhaled a musing chuckle. “I suppose they are.” Judging by his last statement, she could only assume he remained unmarried – without a family and with the intention of a good reason. “Do you come to events like this often?”

---

Claire De Lune

---

“My husband served before he died.” Her added admittance was enough for him to quirk a brow slightly, though it was not of bewilderment at the fact, more or so the notion of her.... acceptance. “So, I am familiar to the grievances of the occupation bears.” Once upon a time, he had known the grief of loss, he had known the unimaginable weight that bore down upon his shoulders when he had to knock upon the door of wives and mothers and tell them the news that their beloveds, their sons, had been lost to the tides of darkness. Even all these years later, the very first time his knuckles had tapped upon the veneer of dark wood to give a wife her husbands final testaments was still firmly etched within his mind. How he had tried so hard to keep his hand steady as he had handed over the rolled and sealed parchment like a mere errand boy. She must have taken him as one as well when his vocals had first failed him and his lips had remained steadfastly locked. 'I'm sorry.' Those had been the only sentiments he had been able to provide her, to offer her, his teeth had chattered like it was cold, but the sun had warmed him, overly much, as he had nervously pulled at the collar of his military jacket. He must have said it again, because the dim lights of understanding and denial had pulled upon her face and her slow movement of opening the message had hastened, becoming almost desperate. Her hands had shaken, just like his at his sides. They say they know, that they understand, but did they really?

Now, he was a far cry from the boy who'd wretched in the alley afterwards with the combination of empathy and nerves of his own. Of knowing damn well it had been his order, his command that had damned him. A simple scout ahead, a mere routine inspection he had sighed so many times before, but this time the small party hadn't returned. They hadn't returned and so they would find their mangled bodies in the writhing shadows instead. Back then, the man's begging to be saved had torn him apart, the way he had tried so desperately to stop the bleeding, to use what little he knew of healing magic to soothe the hurt and keep him upon the precipice of life he so desperately clung to.

When had it stopped bothering him? Being a soldier? The hidden affliction he had often kept from his older, more polished and proper brother. The horrors he had masked from him, instead regaling him with tales of valor and camaraderie. If things had been different, if the watch hadn't failed and the cretins of the night had never descended upon them and they had all lived, would that have been another mistake? Would his brother look upon his armed forces as happy toys to be moved upon a battle field at whim because of his light hearted stories? Or did he know of the haunted look that used to cross his face? Did he know and say nothing?

“I suppose they are.” His fingers hit a sour note and he would quickly recoil his touch as if burned. There was an almost nervous hint of laughter that left him as he rubbed his palms over his thighs. Though, truly, he felt little over the matter anymore, the recollections still elicited reaction from muscle memory. His foot softly tapped. His hands had grown slick, his chest feeling tight and he would cleench his jaw. "My apologies, miss." He would omit with the action. “Do you come to events like this often?”

At the inquiry, he would shake his head slightly. "No, honestly, I wouldn't be here if a colleague hadn't drug me along. I..... despise crowds."

---

There were risks and while she would have preferred that her husband remain behind the scenes, a draft could not go ignored. Not only, she could see the thrilling excitement and eager in his eyes. Something he wanted to do. Who was she to deny him? While Sonata had eventually accepted the terms – she accepted the losses that came with it, did not make her miss Christoph any less. Keeping her resolve, the young maiden cleared her throat as she focused keenly on the notes presented. Christoph was not the only one that had been taken from her far too soon – as previously mentioned. She could miss them, but such longings would never bring them back. There was a part of her to believe such desires were long out of reach.

Attention veered at the misstep of a keystroke and the anxious fumble. An empathetic smile graced her lips as she chuckle softly following his apology. With care she would simply rest the palm of her hand atop of his. Unbothered by the small hiccup. “It’s alright, just pick up where we left off.” Hands then moved, finding themselves along the keyboard of the piano once more. From there after a briefing of the music sheet, did the keys sing their harmonies once more. It was not often she attended such glamorous events. If she were being honest with herself, she’d much rather prefer planning her next lesson material or reading in the cemetery where both her husband and son rested. If the weather proved challenging, musing her time in solitude in the company of her instruments playing old familiar songs.

Her curiosity bested her with the inquiry, No, honestly, I wouldn’t be here if a colleague hadn’t drug me along. I… despise crowds.

Sonata chuckled softly. “I understand the distaste.” She hummed warmly as the song came to a close. She stretched her fingers, relaxing her shoulders. “It can be rather stuffy.” Her golden gaze shifted slightly towards the crowd of wealth exchanging words, sipping on their wine. “I merely offer tutoring lessons to the lady of the hour,” Though she was uncertain of her position still, doubt hovering over her shoulders even still. Were the lessons of use? Did Miss Arabella enjoy them? Or was it Sonata over-thinking, overcomplicating even the simplest of tasks. “Does your colleague not respect your discomfort?” she returned the subject. “It is not my place, of course.” She remained mindful.

“Though I suppose not everyone seems to understand even the simplest decline.” she offered an apologetic smile in some hopeful reassurance.

---

Claire De Lune

---

How long had it been since he had spared his siblings thought? His father, even? While the man hadn't been entirely blameless in his younger years, he had undeniably brought him into his home and raised him as a soon, much to the dismay of his wife. Perhaps it was just the blood of nobility that ran in his veins that saved him, or perhaps just his abilities all their own that had been worthy of keeping him around and alive. No matter his reasoning, the grand duke of the flourishing empire had never treated him any different than the elder half brother he had or the youngest half sister he had. While, yes, he had been sent away to the northern peaks to serve as protection to their lands at the insistence of the duchess, he had always been welcomed into the dedicated seat of ruling for their section of the empire.

He had to give this woman due respect for being able to continue on as she did, he supposed. Grief and loss had a way of eating away at a person. It was much easier to not think of them, and while his own acceptance had come in the end, it wasn't an easy path to clear. Though, he also supposed that she hadn't lost either of her loved ones to her own hand. She hadn't lost control of something she had so vehemently denied until she lost control, a new sensation she had been unaware the consequences of. She hadn't nearly torn them apart in a blood crazed frenzy. She hadn't been a bystander in her own body, fully aware of the screams, of the feeling of meat and viscera under her fingernails. Perhaps she had held them afterwards, begging, pleading with the night to give them back, to return them in exchange of anything she had to offer - including her own life. Perhaps she had done the unthinkable and sought to drag them back unnaturally from the precipice they had been cut from.

Because that's what he'd done.
All of it.

Julrik had been hard enough to lose, but Isabella's demise had merely been the product of cruel madness. A torment unnecessary and unneeded. Now, he could say he was little better than the demented monstrosity that had created him. The soft touch of her hand had his own retreating, recoiling slowly the way seared vegetation curled in upon itself when faced with the heat of flames. “It’s alright, just pick up where we left off.” She offered, gentle, but not condescending. Where we left off. He would shake his head slightly, relinquishing a sigh as he got a grip on his rampant thoughts and coldly shut out the recollections for the present and focused on the return to the keys. He couldn't afford a hiccup here.

“I understand the distaste.” She offered, and went on to explain that she was actually the tutor of the bride to be. He would offer a nod. He knew not the way many things worked in the ways of Odersten. What he did know of the people here would likely not be found agreeable or a good topic of conversation with the great majority of the guests here. The song came to its conclusion, and he would fold his hands within his lap idly. “Does your colleague not respect your discomfort?” He would offer a thoughtful hum at that inquiry. He didn't know much about the workings of Mithras, only his askance or demands in the recent past. Then the invitation for this evening, business conducted before they had parted ways for the remnant of the festivities. “It is not my place, of course.” He would turn his head finally to behold her in full once more. “Though I suppose not everyone seems to understand even the simplest decline.”

He offered her a slight smile, "I believe the fault lies largely with myself." He would offer, a soothing intonation. "I often don't make it known when things bother me." Though, the list of true irritants were few and far between. The other had deemed this necessary, though his silence after the last message that had passed between them was a bit.... unnerving. He didn't take Mithras to be a fool to purposefully harass an unknown guest at such a large party, but he couldn't quite say what it was that would cross the line for him either. How much could he get away with before he would be found out? Or perhaps he was talking to Avarice, extracting information. The thought made his skin crawl. If he somehow milked the information from her that he had visited the settlement she lived in, he could potentially be seen through in their last council when he had opposed to them expanding into the mountains.

---

I believe the fault lies largely with myself. Her golden gaze would turn with the motion of her head as she observed him without prejudice. I often don’t make it known when things bother me. A familiar habit that she would dare not openly admit herself. She knew of students who did not wish to voice their concerns so openly with the fear of unnecessary repercussions. She was often accused of just grinning and bearing it. Her lips would part to speak though who was to chastise? To tell him that it wasn’t healthy to keep his emotions guarded when she was also guilty of such habits?

“I can respect that.” she said finally, otherwise leaving it there. Shoulders reclined in a lofty exhale. “I do hope, that despite the stuffiness of this gathering,” she continued, a mirthful chuckle escaping her lips while gently teasing the piano keys of the grand instrument. “That the remainder of the evening is generous to you.” It was then the realization struck her. Names were never shared – mere strangers sharing the piano while presenting melodious tunes in a moment of escapism from the bustling crowds of the rich and nobles. “I never did catch your name, sir.”

“Mine is Sonata. Sonata Andante, it is a pleasure.”

---

Claire De Lune

---

“I can respect that.”

The hum of her words were as good of an admittance to being guilty of the same sin as just outright saying it. Perhaps he had merely grown complacent with the subject of his objections, denials, and nay say going unheard, swept under the rug or overturned through whatever semblance of democracy the council held the façade of. Things that he had once been vehemently passionate about being snuffed like a smothered candle on a nightstand. Enough of it had made him accept that no matter his mind on things, it would be discarded. In the beginning, it had been the few for the greater good. The small evil for the bigger picture. Words spun in gilded hymns that held basically the same meaning. It had left him with naught but bitterness and a firm disliking for most cretins of existence in the end. “I do hope, that despite the stuffiness of this gathering-”

He would relinquish a sigh, and the tested keys she played recalling a song that had once held high favor with this brother. “That the remainder of the evening is generous to you.” As she spoke, he would pick up the intonation of the melody, by far not one that someone would play at a wedding, perhaps, but judging from the forlorn of most arrangements he had ever been aware of, perhaps the darker aria would better speak to those serving to be tied together this evening. "In its own way, it certainly has." It had undoubtedly opened wounds he had long believed he had cauterized, if nothing else. Despite not having the sheets of scrawled notes upon it anymore, an artifact lost to time and devastation, he could easily remember the harmonies and the sadly lilting tenor of the cords. “I never did catch your name, sir.” At that, he would raise his head from where he had idly placed his sight to lull across the slats of ebony and ivory. Soft emeralds would light upon her briefly, upon the warm radiance of her idle simper, where they would linger. “Mine is Sonata. Sonata Andante, it is a pleasure.” The edges of his mouth would quirk upwards, an expression held for a moment. "How rude of me," he would murmur. "Aevor Redwald, and the pleasure it mine, Mrs. Andante."

---

THE SONG.