21st Zi’da, 717, First break after midnight
It was late, some break after midnight, in the time before the sun even made its faint oncoming presence known. Darcy barely noticed, had barely left her bed since the early morning events between herself and the two men who had held their confronting intervention. The young blonde had cried, fates she’d sobbed until her voice was hoarse and her eyes were dry. Neither Oliver nor Caius had come to see her, and the Venora had offered the same in return. She felt exposed, betrayed, hurt—even though it had all been from a place of care.
Curtains drawn the heart weary woman had turned away the servants at the door with offers of food and drink with nothing but silence, even Jirelle’s quiet plea with her sweet pastry’s hadn’t drawn the pale broken creature out. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t sleep. Not only was she shattered by the exhausting emotional implosion, but she was afraid. Seven, she was petrified. Eyes and ears everywhere, and Pythera’s handiwork so carefully safety tucked away was laid bare in the morning sun like so much spilt wine.
Darcyanna knew it was only a matter of time now. Only a matter of time before the youngest Venora found out, and then well...death seemed an almost welcome release from the fear that had nipped her heels for so long. And of course, amongst the tears and the pain, there was a new sensation. One that Darcy wanted desperately to end.
Withdrawal.
Post the fight, the pianist had taken her black bag and tossed the last of the contents in the fireplace, burning them with an impulsive need to show Caius and Oliver that she could try. That she could cope. But fates save her, she was not coping. She felt sick, cold and sweating all at the same time. More than once she’d dry wretched into the small wash basin on her coffee table, bringing up nothing but stomach aching from the force. Weeping, body trembling violently and head throbbing, Darcyanna sat in front her white piano wrapped in her blanket.
“I can’t do this, I can’t do this at all.”
Placing a hand on the keys, stroking them with shaking fingers, the young woman pressed a few notes. It felt good, and with a sob she pressed a few more. Pushing the blanket aside, dressed in a long magenta fluffy dressing gown and black shift, the pianist placed her second hand and played a haunting tune.
She played, eyes closed, uncaring of who she woke at the ridiculous hour or what they thought. She played, forcing herself to focus on the sweet high notes of her song. The timing was unpredictable, shifting from a slow tempo to a fast one and back again, falling through trills like water trickling across stones in a river. Midway through she pushed into strong steps, like climbing a staircase to the skies with aching legs, reaching for hope at the peak. It slowed as though to end the song, when with a renewed vigour Darcyanna danced up the scale and put her all into the keys, her very emotions laid out in the melody.
Trilling through the high end of the piano, the blonde haired Venora felt her way through the last few sweetly pitched keys, lingering, complimenting her aching heart, until finally it was done.
Sitting back, wrapping her arms around herself, Lady Darcyanna Venora hung her head and wept.
Curtains drawn the heart weary woman had turned away the servants at the door with offers of food and drink with nothing but silence, even Jirelle’s quiet plea with her sweet pastry’s hadn’t drawn the pale broken creature out. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t sleep. Not only was she shattered by the exhausting emotional implosion, but she was afraid. Seven, she was petrified. Eyes and ears everywhere, and Pythera’s handiwork so carefully safety tucked away was laid bare in the morning sun like so much spilt wine.
Darcyanna knew it was only a matter of time now. Only a matter of time before the youngest Venora found out, and then well...death seemed an almost welcome release from the fear that had nipped her heels for so long. And of course, amongst the tears and the pain, there was a new sensation. One that Darcy wanted desperately to end.
Withdrawal.
Post the fight, the pianist had taken her black bag and tossed the last of the contents in the fireplace, burning them with an impulsive need to show Caius and Oliver that she could try. That she could cope. But fates save her, she was not coping. She felt sick, cold and sweating all at the same time. More than once she’d dry wretched into the small wash basin on her coffee table, bringing up nothing but stomach aching from the force. Weeping, body trembling violently and head throbbing, Darcyanna sat in front her white piano wrapped in her blanket.
“I can’t do this, I can’t do this at all.”
Placing a hand on the keys, stroking them with shaking fingers, the young woman pressed a few notes. It felt good, and with a sob she pressed a few more. Pushing the blanket aside, dressed in a long magenta fluffy dressing gown and black shift, the pianist placed her second hand and played a haunting tune.
Such a perfectly beautiful rendition of this song
Trilling through the high end of the piano, the blonde haired Venora felt her way through the last few sweetly pitched keys, lingering, complimenting her aching heart, until finally it was done.
Sitting back, wrapping her arms around herself, Lady Darcyanna Venora hung her head and wept.