Chapter Text
The cellist led the pianist to the center of the concert hall- their concert hall.
The space that they had tirelessly worked on since arrival; of course, the village residents helped so very much, but he thought that she was the most passionate about it. She, and he, as a result.
They weren’t quite done with it yet, but it was so very near completion, with the place looking truly spotless.
Under the beautiful, shifting light, they stood, observing what they’ve made.
Unbeknownst to the other, while hand-in-hand, their pulses were fluttering.
~
The place was still ruined. He thought that it may have gotten worse, with the spiders taking residence under the tables and over the vases of wilted flowers.
Thick sheets of webs had spread; a thick coat of dust settled, a colony of crabs scuttled about, and growths of pulsing darkness jutted out of their stage. He thinks his piano may have been shattered, along her cello. The place was just downright oppressive now.
Her body might still be here.
His skin itched; it was more of a phantom sensation, than anything else.
The numbing apathy from before was gone, and all he felt was another beach of salt rubbed into a newly reopened wound.
The pianist decided to ignore it.
The least he could do for her was to fix up the place for when she came back. She’ll come back.
He looked back to the child, which, what, did they multiply, there’s two of them now ? The other may have snuck in while he was gaping at the hall’s decrepit state. Nonetheless, he looked back at the two children, and said: “This concert hall, it was once a very important place to u- I.” He took a moment to recover. “Will you help me restore it?”
The only thing he had left to offer up was his gratitude. He didn’t verbally express that, however.
Thankfully, strangely, they went to burn up the webs, as if they knew where they were, as if there was something guiding them.
~
You’re such a perfectionist, you know that?” She teased, watching him scrub the same table a fifth time, his arms starting to burn.
He huffed, taking off his mask, as he could’ve sworn that the temperature was steadily increasing. “It is not my fault that you can’t see the dust particles on here. Dear, you may need spectacles.”
“It is not I who needs them. Besides, we’re always providing a spectacle for our audience, and that’s probably enough, eh?” She patted his shoulder.
He laughed, despite how high-strung he was, despite his aching muscles, as he always loved her sense of humor. No matter how… uncomic the jokes were, he could make an exception.
~
With nothing else to use, he scraped off the webs with his bare hands, as the other two lit them ablaze instead. He couldn’t do anything about the candles, other than righting them back to a proper position.
The other two seemed to have finished with the tables, and while he’d have preferred to make the place spotless, he didn’t push them to continue. The only thing left was to remove the darkness and the crabs.
…Of course the most convenient solution would’ve involved her . But no, she still wasn’t here.
( He deeply wished she was, but that’s no surprise. )
He felt more like a ghost than ever, outside as well as inside now, ha, as he drifted back to the entrance and scooped up both of their harps.
Inspecting the two kids closer, he noticed that one of them was mostly decked with orange and blue, while the other was mostly donned in red. They never seemed to respond in a language he understood, so he temporarily named them “Two” and “One.”
The cellist was always more creative than him, but she swatted at him whenever he expressed that. “It’s just not true,” she explained, “and even if it were, we both excel in different areas. For instance, I think you look great in blue, while I don’t. Purple objectively isn’t better than blue, no matter how much I try to convince you so.”
One was leading Two, their hands linking them together. His heart flattened just a bit more out of tune. Regardless, he gently put the other harp in the hands of the former.
They knew what to play, and as they did so together, he could almost hear a piano and cello, once again, as if she were playing from wherever she was.
The light spilled out from the sky, dancing, as if they were underwater.
They might’ve been, but the pianist wouldn’t drown anymore. He dared for another shard to crash through the window.
Thankfully, it didn’t.
Clumps of pulsating darkness seemed to lose their luster and color, as the crabs retreated under the children’s onslaught of bright and burning flames.
The piano was intact.
The cello was not. Its fingerboard lay at an odd angle, its strings snapped. A shard of wood lay by its side.
He chuckled a bit, because really, it was all a bit funny. What a way to describe their owners’ states at the moment.
The child, One, approached his piano, as Two stared up at them. They seemed to exchange a quick conversation with either their eyes, body language, or telepathy.
The pianist, the original pianist, sucked in a breath as they began to play the theme once more. It was a bit ridiculous that his first urge was to tackle them off, no, that’s enough, I can’t keep hearing this piece when she’s not playing the other half, that’s my instrument , but he restrained himself. What a fool he was; perhaps the last millenia ( oh, has it really been that long? WHAT YEAR WAS IT?) made him a bit deranged.
But wait, their poster that he skimmed over at first, only because it hurt to look at in its scratched-up state, started sealing up before his eyes. Her face- previously damaged and missing- had come back.
And so he stood there, gaping, staring, like a fish out of water, as the concert hall began glowing and shifting the way it should’ve been, the candles lighting up, as the child continued their melody.
( They’d heard of enchanters who could revive their surroundings and create displays of colored lights when they were young. She suggested they run away with them. He called it all a silly myth. )
( Besides, music was a form of magic too. It wasn’t as dramatic to the naked eye, but they could do fine without spells. )
( Who sent this pair? Why could they do this, but not him? )
Two clapped the loudest, out of the, well, two of them.
Mostly, he was preoccupied with their poster.
He could see her face again. He had almost forgotten it; despite how simplified the design was, he could make out her face of full concentration, her steady and accurate bowings, as she put all of her emotions into the cello’s part.
I’ll find you.