A Girl at Crescent
Crescent was a respectable school, instituted for students of musical talent. The school’s objective and focus were entirely dedicated to the nurture and development of music within gifted individuals. Now if said individuals, perhaps, drank blood and were allergic to the sun, or shapeshifted into predators by the light of the full moon – well these were minor flaws that the professors were willing to overlook provided that the candidate proved capable of restraining undesirable activity. Eating one’s peers was not allowed.
Crescent was a boys’ boarding music school. So, you decided to take a midnight stroll outside around the borders of the campus, you would be surprised to catch a glimpse of a girl leaning against a tree, soaking up the moon’s beams as she waited for next period. Standing alone and avoided by all other male students she would open her eyes and gaze in your direction. She would not turn away but would continue to stare, rather curiously, at you. Her eyes were sad, looking nearly black in the dark, but you wouldn’t be scared. A string inside of you would suddenly pull and stretch, pressing a need against your heart. And the next time your mother tried to force you to take piano lessons, you’d begin them with an eagerness that would take her by surprise.
The girl’s name was Jesse. Before that it had been Agatha. Before that it was Delilah. The girl had lost count of her names. But she remembered others.
First there had been David, a young boy who killed a giant and became a great king over a chosen race. He became famous for his “Psalms” – songs that she had helped him discover when he had been but a shepherd boy.
Next came a German composer who grew famous for his concertos. As a boy, she had led him into a nearby church and showed him how to play the gorgeous pipe organ. From under the wings of a stone angel, she had guided his fingers while he pumped the pedals.
Then there was her autistic prodigy. Amadeus was always happy to see her when she popped in surprise visits as his father took him and his sister on a tour all over Europe. If ever the children had been hungry, she would sneak them sandwiches before they gave a performance.
She had given hope to the deaf composer, Ludwig. She dried his tears in his despair and had filled his head with tunes that calmed his heavy soul. She persuaded him to share his music with the world, even if he couldn’t hear the notes flowing out of the instruments, because the music would always be inside of him.
After that, she had taken a break, standing by to watch as the world grew in music and wonder. Going to all the best theaters, she clapped the loudest at Handel’s Messiah, listened to the choir sing Schupert’s composition, and bought the first sheets of Chopin’s piano music. But when she first met a Russian boy and saw the potential in him, she couldn’t keep herself away.
Tchaikovsky’s first ballet was a victory to them both. It was also the first time she’d ever crossed the ocean over to the other continent. While traveling around America, she felt its raw energy and aggressive soul. So, after Tchaikovsky left back for his homeland, she stayed.
Now, she was here at the school. Watching. Waiting. Until then, she did not mind if the boys mocked and ostracized her. One day, she would reveal her true nature.
After all – she was a Muse.