The Adagio State of Love

She hated him.

Despite what was said, he was quite convinced of this statement.

The cold glares he received from their encounters, the slack hold of her hand when he held hers, and her stiff manner of drawing near could only be described as pure and utter loathing. She would not speak freely, only opening her mouth to ask essential questions and for food to pass through.

Normally such behavior would irritate him, but he couldn't deny he wouldn't do the same in her place. 

To be wrenched from his home and taken halfway across the world to a foreign country and in the care of a seemingly morose, elderly grouch would place anyone under a sour mood. 

He understood her predicament. Oh, he understood it perfectly.

And so he did not say a word when she arrived in the dining hall that evening, her  customary scowl gracing her features.
Ignoring the well-meant whisper of the nursemaid, she shuffled over to her chair at the other end of the table and sank down, staring disinterestedly at the meal before her. 

He continued to dine, every now and then glancing over at the sulking child. Over the past two weeks she had come to the realization that this was now her home, and resorted to the juvenile compromise of brooding. No doubt she was bored but too stubborn to inquire for playthings; choosing instead to wander in the lower quarters of the manor house for entertainment. 

He suspected that their relationship would remain as cold and distant for a very long time, but fate proved him wrong.

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It was in the dead of the night when he awoke, his throat parched with thirst. He rose from bed, and wrapping himself in his robe, silently made his way down the steps; passing through the empty quarters to head towards the kitchen. 

Suddenly, he paused. He was sure he heard somethi-TAP.

There, there it was again. He crept in the direction of the sound. Making sure to blend with the shadows of the hallway, he craned his head to face inside the room. 

From the dim glow of the candle in the corridor, he could make out a figure stepping towards him. He narrowed his eyes. It was a small, lithe shadow, resembling more of a child. He could faintly see beige, smooth strands dangling by its pale elbows. It moved closer into the light, and his eyes widened. He recognized that small, dainty countenance, with the sharp features of her bastardly father, and the grim line of her mouth, only a small frown compared to the glares she bestowed on him. She was staring right at hi-no, not at him. He tore his gaze from her face and settled it on the mahogany grand piano only a few feet away. 

Glancing back up at the child, he watched as she peered around furtively, as if in fear of being caught in a crime. With a light step, she drifted over to the piano in the manner of an apparition and gently lowering herself down on the cushion, blew away the dust collecting on the piano keys.

He held his breath as she once again scanned the room. Was she capable of playing?

The first notes were so barely perceptible that he almost missed them. Her fingers skimmed delicately down on the keys, the music flowing from the piano with a grace that reminded him of memories so long ago. 

He remembered his own, sweet child practicing, every once in a while sending a wide grin up at him. He could see her in his mind's eye, her features maturing and growing, but her skill remained ever the same, her elegant hands dancing as swift as butterflies among the keys. 

Abruptly, the melodies stopped. Shaking his head, he flicked his eyes back to the child, who raised herself from her seat. She studied the piano, and then reaching out her hand, let her fingers glide over the keys. He goggled at the tender smile she held, softening her deep eyes. 

Then, with a spin of her toe, she slipped out of sight.

He remained standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed upon the spot where she had stood and made a mental note to have the maids cleanse the piano in the morning.

Perhaps, when the time was right, he could tell her how, though she certainly resembled her father, how much she reminded him of her mother, how she played with the same finesse, and how her eyes crinkled with the same love.

But for now, he would settle for her nocturnal pieces.