M
Miu Renayuki
Guest
Original poster
The mansion was clamoring with people. It was a quaint get together, a ball of sorts, and every friend and family member had been invited, each adorned in beautiful gowns or suits, and conversing with one another to the tune of a faint piano. The sound seemed to come from nowhere however, for their was neither a radio nor a piano in the room. But this was of no concern to the guests and their rich personalities. All that they cared to speak of was their own grandeur, their fortunes in the past months, and the tragedy of the wife of the man who owned such an exquisite mansion's death. The death of such a woman was of importance to these shrewd individuals, after all.
They say she had been killed by one of the butlers whom had been fired just a day before, for personal reasons. Something of an affair between the two was spoken of, but the family had chosen to deny this controversy to preserve the integrity of the fallen mother. Though, the press still talks of these things being true, and they hold on to such rumors with their petty lives. They insist the ordeal was known of by the daughter, and she herself had given the information about the affair. This get-together was thrown in the wife's honor, but truthfully, it seemed more like a way for the husband to pretend he was not bothered by the death. The powerful-looking man pretended this entire time, acting as if she had never been lost. Laughing with friends, but also drinking plenty of the rich wine he had set out to the point where he may have actually forgotten.
"Where's that darling girl at, anyways? Shouldn't she be down here?" One of the women asked him, noticing an absence in the room.
"Who?" He swayed drunkenly, raising an eyebrow.
"Your daughter."
"I-I have a daughter..?"
"Yes.. Lucielle, Charlie.. I think you've had enough to drink for tonight." She reached to take his glass of wine from his hand, but he swatted her hand away. This wide swing of his arm only caused him to lose his balance, however, and he toppled over, the wine glass shattering across the pearly white floor. He stumbled back to his feet, glaring around at his company, which was now staring at him. "The hell are you all looking at!?" He shouted angrily, before turning back to the group he was talking to beforehand. They looked at him, who now appeared out of place with the crowd of etiquette acquaintances.
"So.. where is Lucy, then?" One of them decided to proceed with the question.
"Don't you hear the piano? That girl hasn't quit playing that piece of junk. She won't leave her room." They all stopped to listen for a moment. It was a sad, lilting tune, but nonetheless a beautiful sound.
"That's her?"
"All day, every day."
As you go up the winding staircase, the sound of a piano would grow louder, and clearer. It was almost repetitive, but a tune that would not leave the mind for quite a while. As the top of the steps were reached, and you walked down the wide, porcelain-like hallways, it slowed in tempo, as if predicting your approach. As the rather large door was swung open, there was a pause, and you'd see a young girl sitting at a pure white, grand piano, with her back facing you. Her dress was a dark, grey and black patterned ensemble, with wide sleeves, both of which were lined with large white frills, which also lined the skirt of the dress, the waist, and the large white collar piece. Her hair was also dark, and flowed past her abdomen.
The pause was short, and she began playing again, but softer this time.
"Did father fire the butlers at my door, too?" She said in a soft voice, just loud enough for you to hear.
They say she had been killed by one of the butlers whom had been fired just a day before, for personal reasons. Something of an affair between the two was spoken of, but the family had chosen to deny this controversy to preserve the integrity of the fallen mother. Though, the press still talks of these things being true, and they hold on to such rumors with their petty lives. They insist the ordeal was known of by the daughter, and she herself had given the information about the affair. This get-together was thrown in the wife's honor, but truthfully, it seemed more like a way for the husband to pretend he was not bothered by the death. The powerful-looking man pretended this entire time, acting as if she had never been lost. Laughing with friends, but also drinking plenty of the rich wine he had set out to the point where he may have actually forgotten.
"Where's that darling girl at, anyways? Shouldn't she be down here?" One of the women asked him, noticing an absence in the room.
"Who?" He swayed drunkenly, raising an eyebrow.
"Your daughter."
"I-I have a daughter..?"
"Yes.. Lucielle, Charlie.. I think you've had enough to drink for tonight." She reached to take his glass of wine from his hand, but he swatted her hand away. This wide swing of his arm only caused him to lose his balance, however, and he toppled over, the wine glass shattering across the pearly white floor. He stumbled back to his feet, glaring around at his company, which was now staring at him. "The hell are you all looking at!?" He shouted angrily, before turning back to the group he was talking to beforehand. They looked at him, who now appeared out of place with the crowd of etiquette acquaintances.
"So.. where is Lucy, then?" One of them decided to proceed with the question.
"Don't you hear the piano? That girl hasn't quit playing that piece of junk. She won't leave her room." They all stopped to listen for a moment. It was a sad, lilting tune, but nonetheless a beautiful sound.
"That's her?"
"All day, every day."
As you go up the winding staircase, the sound of a piano would grow louder, and clearer. It was almost repetitive, but a tune that would not leave the mind for quite a while. As the top of the steps were reached, and you walked down the wide, porcelain-like hallways, it slowed in tempo, as if predicting your approach. As the rather large door was swung open, there was a pause, and you'd see a young girl sitting at a pure white, grand piano, with her back facing you. Her dress was a dark, grey and black patterned ensemble, with wide sleeves, both of which were lined with large white frills, which also lined the skirt of the dress, the waist, and the large white collar piece. Her hair was also dark, and flowed past her abdomen.
The pause was short, and she began playing again, but softer this time.
"Did father fire the butlers at my door, too?" She said in a soft voice, just loud enough for you to hear.
