Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Tristan unlatches the door, opens it with ease, steps inside. A narrow room, perhaps six feet wide and twelve deep. Plain greyish walls. A slim table against the wall, upon which sits a lantern and a single book. Across from that, a twin bed with a blanket. Against the back wall, a stainless steel toilet and sink combination, for human needs.
When Tristan and Raya enter the room, the human kneels at once, gently places his hands upon the floor, bows his head, and awaits further instruction.
Tristan peers down, observing the human. Late thirties. Sweet-faced. Gentle. At first, Tristan is unsure of what to say, of whether it was a mistake at all to come down here, but for that full moon in the sky tonight outside his favorite window. And Raya’s request for entertainment.
And Kyle.
I was wondering if you might like to entertain us.
The man understands at once. “Do you request anything specific, sir?”
Tristan thinks. Something from the heart, he finally decides to say. Something honest. Something true.
The man seems puzzled by the request for a moment. “Yes, sir,” he finally says, then carefully reaches underneath his bed for an item.
A violin.
He brings the instrument to his chin, still kneeling.
This won’t do. Tristan forces himself to be assertive. Please stand. I insist. Stand as if you are a great violinist in an auditorium of adoring fans. They’re here to listen to you and the beauty you give this world. Please, stand with dignity.
The man climbs to his feet at once, then settles into place just as fast, obeying too rigidly. He brings the instrument to his chin again, hands shaking. He attempts a first note. The string squeaks. The bow, slipping and uncertain.
Raya sighs impatiently.
I believe in you. Steady your hands, remember the audience, the large auditorium of adoring fans. Do you see my eyes? Look at me.
The man looks at him.
Right in the eyes.
Tristan wonders if he shouldn’t have asked such a thing. But he did, and now the man stares at him with his soft, gentle eyes, his beautiful, sweet, disarming eyes.
Good, says Tristan, in a voice so quiet, so empty, it’s merely breath. From the heart, now.
The man lifts his bow.
Then plays.
The first note steadies itself, then rings out, resonating and full as it fills the room.
That single note leads into the next, and the next, stringing together into a melody of somber emotion.
The rooms nearby must hear the music, too. All the other occupants, the other humans, normally silent as the dead, now gently coaxed to life by the sweet and unassuming song of the tender violin.
It swells as it fills the hall.
Fills their ears.
Fills their hearts with melancholic hope and beauty.
With richness, darkness, and resounding light.
He draws his bow up and down the strings as the melody takes flight. The man’s face twists with emotion as he closes his eyes and becomes one with the violin, becoming every note.
As the music swells, Tristan can almost believe they aren’t in this room, but rather in an actual auditorium, a grand opera house, under the bright, glowing stage lights, an audience full of teary-eyed admirers. Each of them moved as they watch the violinist play, every note bleeding with emotion, every vibrato ringing out with its sorrow, bringing every audience member to inspired tears.
All of them, under the spell of this man’s violin, changed by the power of his music and its inexplicable influence over them.
Tristan watches with unwavering apathy on his face as the man plays. Despite Tristan’s stony, emotionless face, he feels a single tear let loose from his eye.
It runs to his nose, to his lip, to his chin.
Drops to the floor.
Too soon, the song concludes. When the human finishes, he lowers his head at once, violin held to his side, and waits.
“Sadness,” says Raya. “What an … an interesting emotion. I think I may never have felt it that way before.”
Tristan decides they are quite finished here. Thank you for that beautiful song. We shall leave you be now. You may rest, Blood 1025. He turns to go.
“Not so quickly,” insists Raya, stopping him. She takes one step forward. “I wonder what ‘sadness’ means to you, human?”
The man keeps his head bowed. “It means … whatever you wish it to mean to me, ma’am.”
“No, no. I want a real answer.”
Tristan takes hold of her arm. Let’s go, you’re disturbing him.
“But I want to be entertained,” whines Raya playfully, with but a hint of annoyance. She faces the man. “You will survive long down here with those manners. I can respect that.”
Tristan clenches his jaw. Raya …
“Perhaps I will ask a different question. One that is easier to answer truthfully, a far simpler question.” Raya’s black eyes burn as she stares upon the human, takes another step forward. “Can you tell me … your name?”