Post by nightingale on Aug 16, 2015 23:38:17 GMT -5
POV: Kathleen Symphonia Aldaine
I play the harp, and then this building magically has one. Or someone has just made a harp. In the Arts and Crafts center. Who knows what these people do? At least music is one of the arts.
Stepping nearer to the instrument, Kathleen hesitated, looking at the open door behind her hesitantly. Even if these people were tech-deprived, they could still recognize her music, since the competitions she had entered weren't really low-key. Desire won out, however, and she sat on the slightly dusty stool and looked at the harp, half-expecting it to speak. When it didn't, she toyed with her bracelet and brought her hands steadily to the strings, and with no hesitation, began to play.
When the first note permeated the air, she let her tongue dab at her lips, paying attention to the piece she played-Camille Saint-Saëns, Op. 95-and let herself be taken into the exquisite richness of the strings, producing a sweet timbre. With a delicate, sweet tone that sometimes seemed wistful and yet so majestic, the piece drew her in like a fly to honey, and as it rested against her shoulder, she lost herself in the beautiful noise, or at least until she heard soft, padding footsteps.
Letting a note end sharply with a out of tune twang, she winced before rising, narrowing her eyes slightly at the person who had entered. "Hello."She called warily, letting her words drag on her tongue."Who might you be?"
I play the harp, and then this building magically has one. Or someone has just made a harp. In the Arts and Crafts center. Who knows what these people do? At least music is one of the arts.
Stepping nearer to the instrument, Kathleen hesitated, looking at the open door behind her hesitantly. Even if these people were tech-deprived, they could still recognize her music, since the competitions she had entered weren't really low-key. Desire won out, however, and she sat on the slightly dusty stool and looked at the harp, half-expecting it to speak. When it didn't, she toyed with her bracelet and brought her hands steadily to the strings, and with no hesitation, began to play.
When the first note permeated the air, she let her tongue dab at her lips, paying attention to the piece she played-Camille Saint-Saëns, Op. 95-and let herself be taken into the exquisite richness of the strings, producing a sweet timbre. With a delicate, sweet tone that sometimes seemed wistful and yet so majestic, the piece drew her in like a fly to honey, and as it rested against her shoulder, she lost herself in the beautiful noise, or at least until she heard soft, padding footsteps.
Letting a note end sharply with a out of tune twang, she winced before rising, narrowing her eyes slightly at the person who had entered. "Hello."She called warily, letting her words drag on her tongue."Who might you be?"
