Music filled the winding corridors and narrow passages.
Libi made her way slowly past the deep shadows of looming statues. Part of her wished she’d stayed home, but the music was too beautiful. She paused outside a great oak door, gathering courage. After a moment, she opened it a crack.
A boy sat behind a large piano of rich maple. He rocked slightly with the weight of the music.
Libi stood, entranced. “Are you going to stand there forever?” the boy asked, smiling, never opening his eyes or stopping the flow of music. It took Libi a moment to realize he was addressing her.
“I’m sorry! I heard your music and-” “Do you know what that was?” the boy asked, cutting her off. He was staring at her now; his large brown eyes were the same sweet color as the maple piano before him, though the music still continued.
“Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,” Libi whispered.
Only now did the boy stop playing.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “And this?” the boy asked, continuing with another melody. “Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy,” Libi answered. The boy was impressed. “Well, those are easy, but how about this?” he asked as he played a more subtle piece. “La fille avec cheveux de lin, also Debussy,” Libi answered easily. The boy stopped. “Very curious,” he whispered to himself before smiling.
His matted blonde hair, strewn about his face, made him no less gorgeous than Libi supposed he was in silks.
“Where did you learn such things?” he asked, but Libi remained quiet. This was how her father had gotten himself killed. It was all because of the piano and what they were.
“Come closer,” the boy ordered, but Libi remained where she was. “I won’t bite,” he chuckled, but she didn’t move. “I shouldn’t have come,” she breathed. “No… I enjoyed our chat,” he said, blinking a few times. “May I please at least see your face?” he asked. Only then did Libi notice that she stood in the shadows. “Please, Miss? Or maybe just a name?” he asked, offering her an easier solution.
“Libi,” she breathed. “Libi,” he repeated. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Libi,” he said, bowing as best he could from his place on the piano bench. “My name is Henry, son of Archduke Richard,” he added, still in his bow.
Libi gasped and jumped back behind the door. The boy laughed. “Don’t be frightened, little mouse,” he said, holding out his hand to her.
He was beautiful. She was almost jealous, but his kind nature made it impossible.
“Now may I see my companion in the love of music?” he pleaded. Libi took a few steps forward, until she was at the edge of the shadow’s veil. She was safe here. If she turned and ran, he’d never find her. Libi was a common name; though it was more common for cats than for people. “Please?” he asked again and somewhere in his deep brown eyes, she felt the surge of courage to step out of the light.
His eyes widened as he took in her appearance. He’d never seen anyone with such creamy white skin or hair of such a brilliant red, though what attracted the most attention were her golden eyes, cut in half, like a cat’s.
“What is this?” he asked. She simply smiled at him. “You asked for no explanation, Sir Henry, only that you would like to see me,” she said, sounding braver than she felt. “Curious,” he murmured again. “Well, can you play?” he asked, standing and motioning to the piano stool. “I- I couldn’t,” she protested. “I insist,” he pressed. She could see the curiosity and amazement inside him, like a child.
She sat and let her fingers flow over the keys without a moment’s hesitation.
Oh, how she loved music.
“Mozart. Eschenbach. A very difficult piece,” Henry noted from behind her. “He was genius,” Libi sighed, never breaking from her trance. “I didn’t mean him composing it, though I suppose that must have been difficult. I was praising your ability,” he said, straightening himself out. Libi blushed and the music slowed. “Thank you,” she whispered shyly.
“Where did you learn to play?” he asked, sitting beside her. “Papa,” she whispered. “Your father taught you?” Henry asked, prodding. “Papa loved music,” she said, finishing the piece. “Eshenbach was his favorite,” she added. “That’s why you’re so good,” Henry murmured under his breath. “Then your favorite?” he asked, but Libi said nothing. He was about to ask again when she started playing.
“Moonlight Sonata,” he whispered. She was far better than him. Every note was timed perfectly to flow into the song Beethoven had meant it to be. Suddenly, the music changed and Libi grinned. Henry laughed, having been so drunk on the serious beauty of her own Moonlight Sonata, he hadn’t expected Mozart’s Rondo Alla Turca to spring from her fingers.
“Henry!” a serrated voice snapped from the very doorway Libi had been standing in just moments before.
Libi jumped up, knocking over the stool.
“Who are you?! And what are you doing here?!” a sharp looking woman shrieked. “I-I was-” “Libi was playing,” Henry explained in her defense. “Get out! Get out you vile thing!” the woman shouted, throwing her music book at the girl. “What are you doing, Mrs. Standelle?!” Henry shouted, horrified. Libi dodged the book and ran to the back wall.
Henry couldn’t help but notice how like a frightened animal she was.
“Out! Shoo! Get!” Mrs. Standelle continued. “Stop!” Henry shouted, but before he could hold his tutor back, Libi was gone.
A red fox darted from the room and disappeared into the night.
Henry stood frozen, watching where the girl had become a beast. “What-” “That was a fox playing a trick on you,” Mrs. Standelle explained, smoothing her skirts. “They can do that you know, the talented ones. Look human, I mean. Your father killed one a year ago. It asked to play for him, in its fox form, can you imagine?” Mrs. Standelle shook her head.
Henry immediately thought of Libi’s father.
“They think they're human, revolting beasts,” she continued. As Henry watched his tutor prattle on, he couldn’t help but remember how beautiful an animal’s music had been.
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