fantasy
Piano Girl
9
The first note shimmered, a crystalline echo in the still turquoise water. The girl, soaked to the bone but smiling, pressed another key. The grand piano, impossibly elegant and absurdly out of place, sat half-submerged in the pool. Water lapped at its polished legs, a strange counterpoint to the perfectly formed melody drifting across the manicured lawn.
The girl wasn't making a statement. She wasn't protesting anything. She was simply playing because she could. Because the idea had bloomed in her mind – a vibrant, defiant flower – and demanded to be realized. The mechanics had been a nightmare – waterproofing the instrument, rigging a complex system of supports, the sheer physical effort of getting it into the pool. People had stared, whispered, some even laughed. But The Girl hadn't cared.
Her fingers danced across the ivory keys, the music swelling, a poignant blend of classical training and wild improvisation. The water rippled, reflecting the afternoon sun in a thousand shimmering fragments. She closed her eyes, lost in the sound, the sensation of the cool water against her skin, the sheer audacity of the moment. This was her symphony, composed not just of notes, but of defiance, of passion, of pure, unadulterated joy.
Then, a ripple disturbed the surface of the pool, closer this time. The girl opened her eyes. A shadow fell across the water, and a figure stood at the edge of the pool, watching her, a look of… what? Admiration? Confusion? Something else entirely? The girl didn’t know. She only knew that the music had stopped, and the story, somehow, had just begun.
piano
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