Archive of Our Own

The ballroom is lavishly decorated with silver lace whirled around the walls like the trail of a dancing pixie. Fitting for the Kingdom blessed by the sun. The chandelier hangs with grace as its candles illuminate the center of the dance floor, which was recently repainted with the kingdom’s symbol on it. Every inch of the floor was scrubbed so clean that you could see the reflection of your eyes on them, creating a second ball just underneath one’s feet. Maids and servants alike were dressed in their finest, towing around crystal chalices filled with drinks and glass bottles on top of golden trays.

It was something out of a fairy tale. Kanade feels out of place in this world of wealth, even the outfit the kingdom had tailored for her was probably worth more than all her possessions combined and then multiplied since she hardly owned anything at all.

“Woah, it looks beautiful,” Ichika—the violinist with big dreams and the desire to reach people through music—gasps, her eyes widening just from the sight of it all. 

The entire place was awe-inspiring, decorated to the brim with dark purple, the royal colors of the kingdom. For a moment, Kanade doubts her music will be able to fill up this vast and empty ballroom, yet these doubts vanish as soon as the butler gestures towards the place where they will be playing.

There are plenty of chairs and stands for everyone else. 

For Kanade, there is a harpsichord.

The harpsichord itself was a work of art instead of merely an instrument from which art is played. An array of black and white keys were splayed before her, all 60 of them ready to bring her creations to life. On the lid above had paintings of nature’s most exquisite sights, the wooden frame etched into all sorts of shapes and things that neither affected the instrument’s integrity nor sound. Vines crept up the leg of the instrument and peeking into the instrument itself, there was not a speck of dust.

“I trust this will accommodate all your needs?” The butler was saying as Kanade stared at the harpsichord in awe.

Thankfully, the bassist answers for her. “Yes, and if I may request a few stools?” Shiho says, to which the butler nods and makes a hasty exit to grab the aforementioned furniture.

Kanade sits down at the bench of the harpsichord and waits for their cue to start.

She usually doesn’t compose dances, but after getting the assignment to compose a piece for the crown princess of the Asahina family’s ball, she was struck with the inspiration to at least try. So she prepared a few waltzes, things that can be danced to, and a final piece to be listened to as the partygoers leave the venue.

The notes come to her easily, something easier than breathing because inhaling and exhaling are much more of a chore than playing the harpsichord. It’s easy to lose herself to the throes of a slow dance, the simple melody that floats above the beats, and the conversation of the ball. As her fingers press the keys down, she glances up from her hands and out onto the dancing floor.

Her breath leaves her lungs. It is the only natural reaction anyone would have to the gorgeous sight before them.

There, in the middle of the ballroom, was the crown princess dancing with a partner. She wore a stunning gown the color of the dusk like the night sky was cut and made into cloth, complete with silver linings of sparkles that sparkled as they reflected the candlelight like miniature stars themselves. Her hair was up in a relaxed and messy ponytail, the wavy curls of dark, royal purple cascading across her shoulder as she stepped in time with the music. Among all the other esteemed guests, it was clear who exactly this ball was for, like a brilliant paragon that everyone else tripped over their feet to imitate.

Kanade catches her breath just as the princess turns, and loses it in the same second. The crown princess is beautiful, she thinks, a fact just as sure as the sun rose in the east and set in the west. It was a bit redundant to ruminate on the thought, even.

As Fate, her personal torturer, would have it, a dancer does not stay still, and so the princess’ gaze drifts over to Kanade’s general direction as she sways to a slight turn. The composer can not help but shiver, even as that gaze flies right past her.

Naturally, a princess has no reason to look at her, no reason to know she even exists other than the powerful notes of the harpsichord that Kanade wills into existence for her pleasure and all those that hear.

The passing look only takes a second, but it is enough for Kanade to recognize the look in her eye. For a moment the thrum of chatter and the clinking of glass disappears, leaving only the beating of her heart in her chest attuned to the steps of a waltz and the churning of her gut as she realizes just why the passing gaze was so familiar. It was a look she often saw in her own reflection.

But then the princess’ dance partner, a noble of high prestige, honor, and a lot of luck no doubt, to be the princess’ first dance tonight, tilts his head down, and the princess’ attention immediately fixates on what he is saying, the candlelight catching her eyes in just the right way that makes it look like she’s a fairy tale princess with a smile graces her lips.

Kanade tries to turn her head away from the sight. It’s repulsive to see something so saccharinely sweet on someone who reminds her of herself. But something about the princess makes it impossible to look away, and the composer’s concern only grows with every smile and giggle as the princess dances to the tune of her partner.

Then, the unthinkable happens, the crown princess’ gaze drifts a slight bit over her partner’s shoulder and like a chain of events, both of their fates are irrevocably changed. 

Their gazes meet, and a look is all it takes for Kanade to understand what is asked of her. Or at least, she thinks she does.

Spurred by reckless abandon and the need to help, Kanade does something foolish. Her hands divert from her written composition and her fingers press down on different keys. 

The piece has gone on for long enough. 

Immediately, the sudden change is noticed by her fellow musicians as they look up with questions, but they do not need her answers. All they need is her cue. It is Shiho who understands first, and the bass slowly disappears quickly followed by fiddles before Kanade wraps it up with a final chord that ends a sentence like a period.

The composer glances back at the dance floor to see the princess politely excuse her from the noble, who had no choice but to allow someone else to take his place.

“Master Yoisaki,” Ichika calls out, violin in resting position as she stares at Kanade with concern written plain on her face. Her gaze shifts out towards the ballroom before she looks back at the composer, who was tilting her own head in confusion. “Master Yoisaki?”

“I’m fine,” Kanade says, a reassuring smile on her own face. “My apologies for the abrupt ending, I felt that the piece had gone on for too long.”

“No, not that, though I was a bit worried,” Ichika says and then glances one more time before she clarifies, “Why is Princess Asahina staring at you?”

Kanade blinks. “What?” Her head turns before she even realizes it, but all she sees is the side profile of the princess’ face as she stares away at something beyond Kanade’s sights before a group of other people vying for the crown princess’ attention block her from sight.

Ichika sighs, “Nevermind.”

Shiho plucks at the strings of her bass, adjusting a peg as she goes to tune the strings to their desired pitch. “So, should we go on to the next piece of our repertoire?”

The composer glides her hands across the keys, giving a hum in confirmation. “I’ll probably make adjustments to the pieces as we go along, please just follow me.”

Shiho and Ichika exchange glances and then the rest of the musicians nod. 

There is no need for words between them, united through music alone. It doesn’t matter whether they just met each other today or yesterday. Everyone gathered here played their part.

They breathe in together and Kanade gives the downbeat with a nod of her entire being.

It was late at night, the perfect time to use the world’s natural silence to write the melodies in her head onto paper with no chance of being interrupted. There was something about the night, of how it was time to rest, to forgive the tumultuous day, and to close one’s eyes to embrace the soothing cover of darkness, that spurred her to compose like nothing else. The quietness of the night was to soothe the hearts of those who lived during the day, reassuring them that they did all they could.

But under the silvery gaze of the moon, Kanade’s heart only beats more furiously and the melodies in her head grant her no reprieve.

All the better. Sleep was too nice of a comfort for her to deserve.

The silence of the night only let the tunes in her head get louder. Perhaps the only way for music to exist was for there to first be silence.

The flame in the lantern flickers and burns, forever gnawing on the wick. It is a kind of barely alive thing that will die without anything to devour, but the light is such a precious thing at night so Kanade lets it burn.

A speck of light in an otherwise dark, empty ballroom. Could you paint a better picture of loneliness? And yet, in a ballroom full of people dancing and being merry, she felt more alone than she does sitting here by herself.

The last piece she played still feels incomplete, even though it is a finished song. It’s her job to make it sound right, but it has nothing to do with the notes and the rhythm. There’s something else missing and she intends to figure out what it is tonight, or spend a sleepless night trying.

The moment Kanade presses down on the keys, she knows something else is wrong. There was a slight buzz that disrupts the usually clean note. 

It sounds wrong. It’s so wrong. Did I curse this instrument by simply playing on it?

“Shut up,” Kanade mutters darkly, wishing for the abnormal buzz to go away. It’s getting on her last nerve. “What is wrong with you?”

She slams down on another key, a few keys away. This note is fine.

It must be specific to that one key. Kanade lets out a sigh of relief as she realizes this was probably not an issue with the entire instrument and just one regarding a few keys. 

She peers over at the strings, the small quills perfectly aligned with each string waiting for its cue to be plucked and then she spots a small folded-up piece of parchment that is placed too intentionally for this to be a stray napkin of some sports that fell on accident.

Kanade didn’t remember that this parchment was here before. From how it affected the keys, the composer would’ve heard it eventually and before the ball, Kanade had scrutinized the instrument from top to bottom, half making sure it was in good condition and half in awe of a fine work of art.

A wave of protectiveness washes over her. Though the instrument wasn’t personally hers, it might as well have been. The idea that someone would mess with the integrity of the instrument made her a bit annoyed, but then again, who would stick a folded piece of parchment here of all places?

Kanade gently takes out the parchment, being extra careful not to mess with the gut strings. They easily broke after all, and though Kanade wasn’t the one paying for its replacement, there was no need to damage the goods, as they say.

It becomes pretty apparent that there is something written on the parchment. The entire thing seems to be lined with words written with impeccable penmanship. Kanade was sure the handwriting alone was something from perfect examples than from the imperfect hand.

Oh Miku, what if this is a secret message from castle spies to enemies on the outside? 

Kanade’s eyes glance at the multiple ballroom doors, half expecting some skeezy servant to kick them down and then run her through with a rapier for discovering it. She gulps down the nerves and shakes her head slightly. It was late at night and there were lots of guards stationed around here, she hopes. If she screams, someone was bound to hear her, right?

Then again, does she even have the strength to scream?

She shakes her head, clearing her mind of such thoughts. With one more nervous glance at the ballroom doors, Kanade lets herself breathe once more.

Though, just in case, she takes a few steps away from the harpsichord. Blood was impossible to clean when spilled onto wood and she didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good instrument. Kanade would rather die.

Kanade brings the parchment closer to the lamp. The words were backward and upside down, she would have to unfold the parchment to read them. Deft fingers flip the parchment open and then carefully eases out the creases. Now perfectly written out for her, the words capture her attention and she is left spellbound by its inky rites.

At first, she doesn’t quite understand the phrases. Doesn’t quite get how the syllables were written out. It was a bunch of words strung together in something that didn’t quite make sense to Kanade, who could barely read anything other than dots along ledger lines. They weren’t secret plans to kill the Queen or news of a court scandal. 

She mouths the words, too scared to say them aloud in her voice that couldn’t articulate how she felt. Yet, words could still be powerful, especially as she understands. It feels like her piece, the piece she premiered the night of the ball when the nobles started to retreat to their chambers as the wine in the glass disappeared down their throats. Though tired and battered by the divine smells of food while she was hungry, Kanade had poured her heart out into that final song. 

A desperate kind of plea for someone to listen, a finished composition yet never complete.

An unanswered question, the final tunes of her song ringing out as the servants start cleaning up the room. 

But, she might as well have been playing to an empty audience.

Yet as Kanade thought of her latest piece, the words aligned themselves with her melody and she realized the words for what they were: lyrics.

Nothing could stop the smile on her face, not even a rapier thrust through her heart. The parchment, lighter than a quill, held the weight of her piece separated into segments of words. Even she, for all her so-called ‘talent’, could not fathom words that would better fit her own composition.

Raw despair written into words and phrases that aligned with her own, hidden between the lines is a desire to live on regardless.

This… Kanade lifts the slip of paper to the candlelight and smiles in awe at how her music has now turned to words. This is what was missing all along.

Despite all the people who danced to her tune, Kanade doubted they actually listened to her. And here, in her hands was physical proof that someone out there had been moved, had been struck with the notion to put pen to paper and turn melody into a monologue. Someone out there had listened, and not just listened but also went out of their way to write the words to the song.

Kanade wants—no, needs —to find them.

She turns the paper over, desperate to find any trace of whoever might’ve left behind this message. A passing servant? An avid music appreciator from the ball? Kanade silently chastises herself for not paying attention to her surroundings and not coming here quicker, on the chance that she might catch this person in the act.

Then she finds a message on the back of the parchment, carefully written in the corner:

Hearing your piece brought these words to mind, perhaps you will have better use of these than I. —From Yuki

Kanade brings the parchment close, humming the words of the lyricist before testing their name on her tongue. Two syllables, simple and easy to roll off the tongue. 

Was this not proof that someone out there understood her? Who listened to her piece and read a shard of her soul? 

“Yuki,” Kanade says to the empty ballroom, the name reverberating in whispers exchanged between lovers. She then gives the harpsichord a bow. Until she found the lyricist, this would have to do. “Thank you for listening.”

She thinks of dark purple hair, of eyes much like her own and the melody strikes her like a bolt of lightning. It is not a question of what she’s composing. It’s a question of when she’ll be done jotting it down. 

With no time to waste, Kanade starts writing. She writes, scribbles down the notes in her mind, and hopes it will end up sounding like what she envisions in her head.

3 Beats. 3 Steps. ¾ time. Was that all there was to a waltz? It’s obviously lots of dancing, the closeness between partners, and the atmosphere of simply being in the middle of a ballroom.

Kanade drags herself to the middle of the ballroom, just to stand there, nothing more. She feels so small. What would it feel like if someone was here with me?

She hurries over to the harpsichord before she forgets. Songs don’t last forever.

Her fingers twist the quill, ink smudges on her palms, but she keeps going without rest, sometimes without breath, even. A few measures before the end, her hand cramps up, the pain coursing through her veins like fury. Her other hand clutches over it, hoping to ease some of the hurt but it is no use.

She has to suffer through it.

“I’m alright,” Kanade says to everything that haunts her. She repeats the two words like a mantra in her head as she grips her quill tighter. “I can keep composing.”

She does.

After that, the composition is quickly finished. She doesn’t even feel like this is a rough draft. It’s almost a complete piece just by itself, but she doesn’t congratulate herself yet. She needs to hear the song in her head made real in reality. Only then will her mind quiet down.

It sounds alright to her ear, exactly what she had envisioned in her mind.

Before she leaves, she tears a corner off of her music score.

Thank you, Yuki-san, for listening. —K

And so starts a silent exchange of lyrics and small comments between the two of them. 

Unfortunately, the lyrics are never quite sung, but it is official in Kanade’s mind and so long as both of them are aware, it doesn’t matter if the world hasn’t heard it yet.

Kanade finds herself wondering who Yuki is in her free time, and re-reading the lyrics sent to her whenever the music in her mind gives her no quarter. The lyrics aren’t what she would write herself, because words do not come as easily to her as music does, but they are the words and feelings of Yuki. A glimpse into the mind of a brilliant lyricist.

Kanade can not do anything but read the words of someone that has so much in common with herself. She can’t help but wonder, perhaps, if this could be her chance at redemption. That with the help of Yuki, Kanade can finally compose a piece that might save someone.

This time, Kanade does not rip a corner off of her music score and instead dedicates an entire slip of parchment. These heavy words require more space.

Would you like to collaborate together on a song? —K

Kanade finds the response a few days later.

I’d be quite interested in collaborating on a song with you. —Yuki

I’m glad, thank you Yuki-san, for letting me have this chance to work with you. —K

How could I not? It is an honor to work with you, but how will this work?—Yuki

She rips off another corner of her music score. Kanade will make it work, and solutions come to mind.

We can decide upon a night, whenever time allows for you. I need not my eyes to play and you need only write down what you think and hand it to me if you wish not to speak. I assume you would like to keep your identity a secret. —K

You already know that Yuki is not my real name, then. You certainly are everything you’re said to be and more, K-san. —Yuki

Kanade does not mention that she’s combed through a list of everyone’s names in the castle and castle staff and found no ‘Yuki’ during her long and extensive searches.

I find myself at a disadvantage, then, though I suppose you would have known who I am before we exchanged letters. Please, do not misunderstand. I do not care who or what you are, Yuki-san, but I would very much like to make music with you. As for how this will work, I hope the solution I’ve suggested is alright. Otherwise, feel free to suggest other things. —K

What you suggested is fine. I will meet you tonight, an hour after midnight. —Yuki

As Kanade sits on the bench and waits, she is afraid she’ll be unable to keep her end of the bargain. Her hands fidget with her cravat and she picks at the sleeve of her dark tunic. What if she takes a glance? Will Yuki then disappear before her eyes? Was Yuki some sort of fairy that to be seen meant she would cease to exist?

Orpheus, brave and desperate to save his lover, couldn’t do the simple task of not looking back.

Kanade does not think of herself as great as Orpheus. She will no doubt look the moment those doors open. It is inevitable.

You can’t let that happen.

The thought is all the strength she needs as she tears off her sleeve and wraps it around her head like a sash, covering her eyes so that all she saw was darkness. It didn’t matter if she was closing her eyes or not, she can see nothing.

It’s perfect.

She fumbles around a bit to find the keys to her harpsichord, banging her leg against something solid, but it is worth it.

Her sense of hearing is heightened to make up for her lack of sight, and all of a sudden, Kanade can hear footsteps getting closer to what she assumes in the ballroom door. She feels her heart pounding, even at her fingertips as the ballroom door slowly opens. Her head turns towards the sound, an unavoidable fact, but Kanade does not see Yuki. She sees nothing at all but there’s something about the feel of the world that makes it seem like she’s no longer alone.

The footsteps get nearer until they pause a few feet away from where she is seated.

“Master K-san… Nice to meet you, I am Yuki.”

The voice is polite, but it’s also a bit devoid of feeling. A monotone sentence that only riles Kanade’s heart up rather than calms it down.

“Ah,” Kanade manages to get out before she stumbles over things to say. Etiquette! What do I know about etiquette? Something about small forks? Oh, screw it, I’ll just follow their lead… “Um… Right. Nice to meet you, Yuki-san. I am K.”

Her face then falls, she doesn’t know what else to say.

“I’ve told you before, but I’ll say it again. It is an honor to work with you, K-san. Thank you for reaching out.”

“It’s—No, I should be thanking you. You’re a brilliant lyricist, and the honor is mine to get the chance to collaborate with you. Thank you for accepting my selfish request.” Kanade bows in the direction of Yuki’s voice.

“Thank you,” Yuki says, “… I’ve been listening to your music for a long time, K-san. But I must ask, why did you want to collaborate with me so suddenly?”

Kanade hums, a wistful look appearing on her own face. “Ever since your first letter, the words left an impression on me. I was able to see a world drowned in deep despair, and yet there was a little light in that darkness. Of something still very alive and hoping to reach the surface.” She pauses, the familiar keys beneath her fingers as she takes comfort in knowing what notes they are without even pressing down. “I want to create a song like that.”

There is a brief pause, and then Yuki speaks up again. “Of hope?”

“Yes,” Kanade says with a nod. “It is the thing that dies last, after all. I thought that since you could use words so masterfully, we could work together and compose a song that might just be what I’m hoping for.”

There is silence. Kanade recognizes it for what it is and patiently waits for Yuki to think over the long answer Kanade gave.

“I didn’t know you thought that way,” Yuki says. “Thank you, I look forward to our collaboration.”

Kanade grins and taps lightly over the keys, not hard enough to push them down. She wants to play for Yuki. She wants them to start now. 

“K-san, do you wish to start now?”

Kanade blinks underneath the makeshift sash. It was like Yuki understood me even without me saying anything.

“Ah, yes. Let’s get to work, shall we?”

“Mhm.”

Kanade plays a chord and then she plays her heart out.

The ballroom is decorated so beautifully yet nothing compares to the princess, twirling in her dress. The dances don’t last long enough.

As the guests left for their quarters, the people of the orchestra relax. Shiho swipes off the sweat on her brow and smiles wildly. 'Well done!' and ‘Good Job!’s are passed around like candy and Kanade thinks back to the dance, feeling compelled to write another one.

“Master Yoisaki!” Ichika calls.

Ah, I seem to have zoned out again.

“Oh! Sorry,” Kanade says, turning to Ichika with an apologetic smile, “I just thought of a new melody.”

“Ah, I see,” Ichika says with a smile and a nod, understanding. “I just wanted to ask if you were coming with us to dinner. There’s a family restaurant not far from the castle that sells big portions of noodles.”

The thought of noodles and flavorful broth makes Kanade’s stomach growl, but she can not lose this melody. There’s a demand that must be met, and while Kanade doesn’t create music for the sake of anyone other than herself and her father, churning out another draft of a song would help solidify her place in the castle and also among the orchestra. “I think I’ll stay and jot down a few notes here before going to bed,” Kanade says, already reaching for parchment and ink.

Ichika nods, “Alright, just make sure to eat something before you do.”

Kanade smiles and nods, but makes no promises. She doesn’t dare disturb the chefs at the late hour she eventually finishes and there are worse things in the world than going to bed hungry. In fact, she’ll probably pass out at the harpsichord again, waking up just before a wandering maid or servant finds her.

Ichika tells the other of her plans and they all exchange goodbyes before Kanade hears the shutting of the door. She is alone now.

Her hands bring to life a tune never heard before. She works. 

“What are you doing?” Kanade asks when suddenly something heavy rests on her shoulder. She smells the faint smell of expensive perfume.

“Laying my head here.” A pause. “It’s comfortable.”

Kanade wishes she could rip off the sash and see, but she doesn’t. Her hands need to finish their song.

Sometime between their first and their last meeting, Yuki develops the bad habit of resting their head on Kanade’s shoulder as she’s playing.

It’s only a bad habit because it does irreversible damage to Kanade’s heart.

“Master Ena, your brushes!” Kanade calls, her feet hurrying across the castle halls as she tries to catch up to the artist with a bunch of precious paintbrushes in hand. The two of them had been discussing art in the courtyard, a conversation between different artists when suddenly the artist looked at the sky and yelped something about being late and rushing off in a hurry.

The painter pauses and then turns with a look of surprise. “Kanade?”

Kanade skids to a stop, both hands clutching her knees as she desperately struggles to catch her breath. When it gets somewhat easier, she extends the hand with Ena’s paintbrushes in them. “H-here, you left these in your hurry.”

Ena blinks and then smiles as she takes back her brushes. “Thank you, Kanade,” She wraps an arm around Kanade’s and tries to help her stand. “Did you run all the way from the castle courtyard to here?”

“Haa–yes,” Kanade says, gulping down a large inhale of air before collecting her bearings. “You must have forgotten them in your hurry.”

“Oh, yes I was just—”

“Master Ena,” Another voice interrupts whatever it was that Ena was going to say. “Are you alright? You’re quite late.”

Ena hastily bows, reverent though her teeth are gritted shut. “My apologies, your highness. There were no clocks in the courtyard, and I lost track of time.”

The crown princess stands before the both of them, wearing a dark dress embroidered with golden threads that wove the most intricate designs onto the fabric. 

She was a breathing masterpiece, a piece of art made real, and yet Kanade still thought it’d be more fitting if she were in some museum rather than be here, breathing, smiling, and talking amongst the living. Her voice is familiar, even if it was pitched a bit higher than what Kanade was used to.

She knows this fact as she knows herself.

This person is also Yuki. 

Kanade stares for a bit and then fumbles forward in an awkward bow of her own, not sure what to do in the presence of royalty. Though she was a prospective court musician for the kingdom, she was not born in the court and because of this, did not recognize and understand the ins and outs of court etiquette. 

“And you apparently left your brushes as well,” the princess continues and then lets out a small sigh. “Ah, I suppose I can let things slide this time, but it is not the first time you are late, Shinonome-san. Please, do not waste my time.”

The artist stiffens before raising her head high and soldiering on. “Of course, then I shall go in and get ready for your portrait.” There is an exchange of glances, but when the artist’s eyes gaze back at Kanade, the steely glint is replaced by something softer. “I must thank you once more, Master Kanade.”

“It’s no trouble,” Kanade says, offering a small smile. “I’m sure despite the tardiness, you will still be able to paint a brilliant piece.”

The artist grins back, and Kanade is happy to see the spring in her step back again as she enters the room. She wonders what it would be like to watch the artist at work. Different people work differently, and it would be an honor to watch how an artist could choose colors and paint shapes until they were given the breath of life itself.

“Hello.”

A voice brings her back from her musings. The princess is speaking to her, one hand outstretched. 

“Ah–Greetings, your highness,” Kanade says, gently grasping the gloved hand with her own, marveling at how well their hands seemed to slot together before she remembered to bow down and leave a chaste kiss on the royal’s knuckles. She tilts her head up, still bowed in reverence, “I apologize if my sudden intrusion disturbed you.”

As Kanade stands back up, so too do their hands part, but Kanade’s eyes are fixated on the princess. She can not look away, nor does she want to.

“Not at all, in fact, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Again. But they both don’t say it. “Your reputation proceeds you, Master Yoisaki,” Princess Asahina says, a hand brought up to her mouth in the very picture of a dainty lady. “I knew well of your musical talents, but I didn’t know that you were also honorable and kind.”

Kanade lets out an awkward chuckle, ducking her head shyly, “Your Highness, thank you for your exaggerated praise, but I would hardly call myself worthy of being kind or honorable.”

The princess’ eyes flicker like a candle in a slight breeze, dangerously flipping from light to dark. “Then, do you disagree with my statement?”

Kanade hums, a faint smile on her face. “I simply think that one act does not make me any kinder and more honorable than I am without having done so.” She glances over at Ena, who’s waiting to start. “I will take my leave, I hope you have a nice day, your highness.”

The princess looks as if she wants to say something, but she nods.

Kanade bows and then dismisses herself. What she swore before is true.

I do not care who or what you are, Yuki-san. I wish to make music with you.

Only now, Kanade was selfishly wishing for something more that she can’t have.

That night, Kanade sits at her bench on the harpsichord, the dark sash in her hands. Does she go on pretending that she does not know who Yuki is? Ah, but would that just be lying twice? Lying to Yuki would kill her. Lying to the crown princess would get her killed. 

What do you do now, Kanade? You can’t write a song to get yourself out of this mess.

She decides instead to wait.

Kanade does not need to wait long, the door opens and Yuki steps in. Kanade squeezes her eyes shut and waits until the figure walks up to her before she extends the hand with her sash in it.

“I’m sorry, Yuki-san.” It feels a bit wrong to say Yuki’s name with the honorific, it is as if they have become strangers. Yet, Kanade presses on. “I know who you are, against your wishes, your highness. If you would prefer, I will forget this fact at once. I only hope you will still make songs with me because I truly enjoy your company but I understand if you don’t—”

The sash is yanked out of her hands, and suddenly her chin is tilted up and something soft presses against the tip of her nose, causing her prepared speech to turn into absolute gibberish.

“Call me Mafuyu,” Yuki—no, Mafuyu —says. “You can open your eyes now.”

Kanade does what she’s told, face flushing and looking up at the beautifully flushed face of the other. “Sorry, Mafuyu,” She thinks there’s a spark of something in Mafuyu’s darkened gaze when she says her name. It makes her feel wanted like nothing else, but just to make sure.

Just to make sure… “So, will you still make songs with me?”

Mafuyu raises an almost amused eyebrow matter-of-factly. “Yes, it’ll be my honor.”

There’s nothing very honorable about this, Kanade realizes, knowing the fate that will soon befall them.

Yet Kanade smiles anyways, and then after a pause, she leans against the other’s side. “Mafuyu,” She says if only to test the name on her lips to make sure it’s real and not a dream.

“Yes, Kanade?” Mafuyu replies, humoring her.

Or maybe, Kanade dares think, she wants to test my name on her lips as well.

If good exists, then there is bad. Whatever they have between them is not exempt from this fact.

Kanade watches, captivated as Mafuyu walks through the hall, a few handmaidens trailing after her like lost children. The princess does not look at her, eyes poised perfectly to her destination, somewhere Kanade, for all her useless talents and meaningless merit, could not follow. They are strangers now, but Kanade still stares, eyes on the back of the crown princess as she walks away.

She can not fault the princess for looking away. Dreams disappear when you wake up, after all. 

Whatever it is they have, Kanade doesn’t think she’s worthy of it.

But… 

… all she needs to keep going is a chance. A chance of redemption. A chance for forgiveness. So long as she has a chance, there is nothing that will stop her from composing. After all, hope is the cursed thing that dies last.

So she writes a song about wishing she was the one dancing with Mafuyu at the next ball instead of hopelessly playing a song to the other’s dance.

When the time comes, Kanade bows her head down to her hands, fingers still plying chords and notes from the harpsichord, and prays the words she can never say be said through notes on five ledger lines.

Though I can not stand beside you, I hope these songs reach you and stay by your side in my stead.

But songs have ends and she could only repeat the same chords and notes for so long before her fingers broke themselves over black and white keys. The things she creates are only temporary, a momentary reprise with no encore. As she glances at the dancers in the middle of the ballroom, Kanade knows her place. 

Her hands were never made to be held. 

But I wish I could. I wish you would.

Kanade raises a hand and wipes at her shining eyes.

The two of them accidentally meet up at the library. It was not planned, but it was a welcome surprise for Kanade to find Mafuyu in a small back corner of the place. The two wordlessly sit down next to each other, both thumbing through their own books. Kanade is simply reading about new places in hopes of getting inspired. Mafuyu is doing work, probably extra work from her tutors, and the two find solace in the silence until Mafuyu leans her head against Kanade’s shoulder and points to something in her book.

Kanade looks to where Mafuyu was pointing; it was some crossed-out name on her family tree. It represented an ancestor made to be forgotten. 

“Sometimes, I like to think that it could be as easy as simply crossing out my name. I think I’d very much like to disappear from the pages of history,” Mafuyu says quietly, quill in hand dripping with ink, but they both knew the princess would never dare do what she suggests. Not when the Queen loomed over the both of them.

Kanade smiles sorrowfully, “My apologies then.”

Her songs exist, a blend of Kanade’s notes and Mafuyu’s words, and thus Mafuyu can never truly disappear.

Mafuyu always seems to breathe easier around her, which is probably where the air in her own lungs goes. Kanade is fine being left breathless.

One day, Kanade finds herself in Mafuyu’s room.

Honestly, even she doesn’t know what quite happened. Only that they had bumped into each other in the hallway, the princess looking stunning even after a grueling archery session out in the field. Kanade heard something about an organized hunt with some other noble, which was apparently the bassist’s sister. She figures Mafuyu was just back from that.

In any case, Mafuyu had taken her by her wrist and dragged her into her room. Something about giving her the lyrics the other had been working on for a while.

Kanade looks around while Mafuyu rummages through a thick stack of parchment on her neat and organized desk. In fact, the whole room is practically spotless, decorated with the usual royal insignias and lavish furniture. Kanade feels bad for bringing in even a speck of dust. 

Despite the pretty room, Kanade doesn’t feel as if it captures Mafuyu. There’s nothing about the room that screams that this room belongs to Asahina Mafuyu. Only an Asahina.

“Do you need help searching?” Kanade asks, seeing how Mafuyu was taking her time searching for something in a very organized room.

Mafuyu pauses and then nods. “Feel free.”

Kanade nods, but under the glaring of the royal family’s crest, free is the last thing she feels. She wonders if this is what Mafuyu feels like, stuck in a room that is nothing more than a place to sleep and be. But before Kanade can exploit her permission to rummage through Mafuyu’s things, the click-clack of heels alerts them of someone else approaching.

And well, Kanade doesn’t know what to do when she sees the fear in Mafuyu’s eyes as the princess hurriedly opens the closet and shoves the smaller musician into it.

Please, hide. Mafuyu’s desperate gaze is the last thing Kanade sees before the closet door closes.

 There is a brief moment of silence before the door to Mafuyu’s room opens, the squeak heralding the intruder’s presence.

“Honey, do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mother!”

“Mafuyu, I just heard from the hunting party that it was Lady Hinomori who caught the first game and that you could’ve been first, had you not decided to spare the hare you came across.”

“It was a young hare. It would have been a waste of a good arrow,” Mafuyu explains.

A disappointed sigh. “Think about how this affects you, Mafuyu. Now, people may think Lady Hinomori is better than you are at archery. Think about how this reflects our kingdom.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. It will not happen again.”

“It should’ve never happened in the first place.” 

Cold. Then, freezing. Kanade realizes that this is the sweetest of poisons. Sugary sweet on the tongue but it goes down bitter until it twists your insides and leaves you bleeding all the while appearing fine to the outside eye. There is no antidote for toxic love. If there was, surely a better bard would’ve already sung about it and that sad, lovesick songs would simply cease to exist.

“You know how important the hunting season is, right? For our kingdom’s harvest to flourish, you must be its pillar. It would be best for you if you started preparing for the Autumn Hunt now. This will be your last one before your ascension, and I know how two-faced the other nobles are, hoping to bring you down to their level for themselves to feel more important.”

“Yes, Mother. I will prepare for the Autumn Hunt.”

“That’s great. Would you like me to call for an instructor?” 

It’s not a question. Kanade doesn’t think the Queen knows how to do anything except order people around. 

“… Yes, Mother.”

“Wonderful. Oh, and did you know that a prince from the other kingdom was appointed general? A great proof of his maturity and skills, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah, yes. I look forward to meeting him, perhaps we could be allies.”

“Good, be sure to save a dance for him, will you?”

A giggle. “Of course.”

The Queen doesn’t seem to love Mafuyu more than she loves what Mafuyu does for her.

All Kanade can do is listen and wonder: Who wouldn’t want you?  

She thinks as she imagines how Mafuyu covers tired eyes with bright, sparkling ones. The princess she knows tries so hard to find herself in words and musical notes. A life spent pleasing someone else and following others’ suggestions leaves one hesitant to make their own decisions and figure out what it is they want.

Kanade understands, but can not emphasize. After all, Kanade selfishly wants and wants and wants. It seems that all she does is want. 

Mafuyu is enough—more than enough; more than Kanade’s wildest wishes—for her. And yet despite all this, the girl she loves— likes — is being consumed by her very own mother’s demonic appetite.

It is torture for her. Her fingers curl into a fist, and she wishes her nails could pierce through her palm so she could bleed and suffer. It is what she deserves for her silence.

But anything she wants to do would only make it worse, and Kanade was not known for her bravery, her strength, or selflessness. There is nothing she can do. 

Always useless. 

She swears to put this roaring crescendo into a piece dedicated to the Queen. A tumultuous turmoil of notes and screams she wishes she can yell in reality. Kanade swears that by the time she’s through with her, all that history shall remember of the Queen would be her wickedness portrayed through five ledger lines.

She grits her teeth as the loud clashing bangs of percussion in her mind echo the storm in her eyes. Most of these are empty promises—empty threats—and Kanade will sooner face the chopping block than carry out with her want to slap the Queen’s face. But it makes her feel better to imagine the Queen’s face on a target.

Since her music could curse, then she’ll gladly play on.

It horrifies her, how eager she wants to cause suffering to another person.

“I know you won’t let me down, Mafuyu.” Those parting words are not the least bit comforting.

The Queen leaves.

Kanade waits until the footsteps disappear before opening the closet door.

She sees Mafuyu, or at least, all that’s left of her husk.

Kanade slowly steps forward, intertwining their hands together, hoping to give Mafuyu something to hold onto. The princess pulls her hand away as if burnt.

There’s something manic in her eyes as she breaks.

“There’s nothing left of me!” Mafuyu gasps like a drowning man desperate for air, fists curled up by her side as a kind of otherworldly anger possesses her. “I’m disappearing into nothing! I—” She struggles to speak because these are words that her Mother does not allow her to say.

“Do it here,” Kanade offers, holding her arms out like martyrs on wooden crosses. “Disappear here.” 

She opens her arms, offering a place of solace. It’s not even a very big place, nor does it protect one from the cold. It can’t be called a shelter, for there is barely any warmth in it because she is cold herself. It won’t bring you any closer to the salvation in the sky like church steeples are said to do. 

Still, it is a place where love does not come at the demanding price of perfection. After all, there was nothing Mafuyu could do to lose the love Kanade gives.

Mafuyu’s arms wrap around her and hold her close as the survivor of a shipwreck would cling to a floating wooden board. With heavy head and heart, she buried her head in the crook between Kanade’s neck and shoulder, intent on making that small, cold, and damned place her home. 

“…Kanade.” 

Kanade tucks her head underneath her own chin and looks out into the night, her arms wrapping the other girl into a gentle embrace. She feels the girl shiver slightly before melting into it. They are close enough that the musician can feel the furious pounding of both of their hearts. Perhaps they are both starved and frantic to feel alive.

“Until you feel real, you can hold me,” Kanade promises, cursing herself to endure the flames that spread from the other’s touch. If for Mafuyu’s light to shine, it requires Kanade to burn, then she will let it because she’s selfish and wants that light for herself as well.

There are no more things that need to be said, so the musician hums a lullaby under her breath.

And in the dark of night, Kanade waits for the dawn.

One night, Mafuyu drags Kanade away from the harpsichord.

“Eh? Mafuyu? Where are we going?” Kanade asks as Mafuyu deftly maneuvers the both of them through narrow passages that don’t seem to be as spotless as the rest of the castle is.

Mafuyu doesn’t answer, she only glances back for a moment. “You like noodles, right?”

“Uh—yes?” Kanade answers, not knowing why dark, creepy narrow hallways of old, cobwebbed castles have anything to do with delicious noodles.

Rocks fall onto the ground somewhere behind them and Kanade shivers, instinctively pressing herself against the princess’ side. She swears she hears an odd woosh of something whispering something.

It’s just the wind. Don’t panic. Kanade takes a deep breath, eyes wide and frightened. Her hold on Mafuyu tightens and instinctively, Kanade moves to cover the side, forming a protective front behind whatever is behind them and Mafuyu. 

Whatever ghost out there will have to go through me first.

The moment the two of them exit the secret shortcut or whatever haunted bit of the castle, Kanade lets out a sigh of relief.

“Was it that bad?” Mafuyu asks, head tilted.

Kanade shudders and diverts her eyes. She doesn’t think she could face Mafuyu at the moment. As she turns her head to the right, she is assaulted by the smells of all sorts of delicious foods.

Then she sees a table full of them. It’s enough food to feed an entire village!

“Mafuyu?” Kanade asks. 

“These are the dishes suggested for my upcoming ascension celebration,” Mafuyu says, taking a few steps forward to take a seat.

Kanade is faster and brushes past her to pull out a chair for the princess to sit in like she's seen many nobles do. Mafuyu takes a seat, but gives her a small smile she does not give any other.

“And why am I here?” Kanade asks.

“You’re deciding which dishes I pick,” Mafuyu says. “And then you can have the bowl of noodles.”

“Can’t you just ask your chefs?” Kanade asks, “I don’t know what rich people like to eat.” She sits down next to Mafuyu.

Mafuyu shrugs. “It all tastes the same to me.”

“Is that so?” Kanade hums as she looks at the mouthwatering spread in front of her. She still hesitates.

Mafuyu glances at her from the corner of her eye. “They also might be poisoned. So you should try them all and make sure it’s safe for me to eat.”

Kanade blinks. She wasn’t born yesterday. The composer knows exactly what Mafuyu was trying to do. Her face flushes as she takes a piece of chicken from the dish in front of her and then shoves it into her mouth.

It’s delicious. The sauce is exquisite, the chicken is well cooked, and the smell is so great her stomach rumbles as she is reminded of the fact that she has not eaten in two whole days.

Kanade’s ears burn.

Mafuyu fills Kanade’s plates with an assortment of foods. The princess has a smirk on her face, the smug pride in her eyes almost making Kanade wish the dishes were poisoned.

Kanade swallows down the chicken and all the love she has for the beautiful purple-haired woman sitting next to her.

The Crown Princess is the fairest, most perfect princess in all the land.

She brought down a bear with her arrows at her latest Autumn Hunt and soon it will be time for her ascension to the throne. There are already marriage proposals from all over the world.

Kanade leans up against the hard stone wall behind her. The edge of the rocks digs into her back and gives her mind something to focus on besides the roaring cacophony in her head. She stands on a deserted balcony, the stone cracked and worn. Perhaps it’ll break into pieces beneath her feet and she’ll fall further than she’s ever fallen before.

Kanade peeks over the edge. It is a long way down. She wonders if the bushes below her will make the trip harder or smoother. This line of thinking would scare her if it wasn’t a passing thought. She still had songs to compose, after all.

“Kanade,” A familiar voice calls, and Kanade instinctively turns towards the sound with a pleased smile.

She steps forward, intertwining their hands together before pressing a kiss on the back of Mafuyu’s hand. Despite the chilly weather, the princess does not have her gloves on so when Kanade pulls away, she clasps the other’s hand with hers to protect them from the incoming breeze.

The princess—no, Mafuyu— glances away before glaring at her outstretched hand. Kanade waits patiently for her to find the words. While she waits, she studies Mafuyu’s face, her eyes drawn to the tightness of the other woman’s jaw and the slight furrow of her brow. She wishes she can raise a hand and ease the process, promising that Mafuyu could have everything she asked of her, but all that comes from her is an encouraging hum.

Nonetheless, it seems to do the trick. Mafuyu’s jaw relaxes and her eyes finally rise to meet Kanade’s awaiting ones.

It can be the fact that the icy jaws of winter had bitten her cheeks, or that Mafuyu was simply embarrassed, but Kanade thinks a blush looks nice on the purple-haired woman. And if it was because of her, well, those were the kind of thoughts that kept her up at night.

She watches Mafuyu lick her lips and think the words over in her mind. Kanade didn’t know that one word could be so hard to say, but it was fair that the formerly forbidden string of words would be hard to pronounce since Mafuyu hardly asked for anything in her life.

And yet… 

“May I have this dance?” Mafuyu asks, her voice perhaps a higher pitch than her normal monotone but genuine all the same as she holds out her hand, palms up.

Kanade’s answer is an impossibly soft gaze and intertwining their hands together. She tries not to seem too eager, but she obviously fails at that when she immediately aligns herself to face the princess like she’s seen so many others do. The composer supposes she can’t help herself, it’s only the thing she’s wanted since she saw the princess dancing to her waltz from across the room with the slightest of smiles.

Ah, you face your partner. And then you put the right hand, um, on their shoulders? Or was that the left hand? Oh, that’s right. You don’t know how to dance.

A moment’s confusion was all it took for Mafuyu to notice. 

“Kanade?”

“Ah, sorry. I don’t know how to dance, but I’ll try my best,” Kanade admits, furrowing her brow and trying to remember how Mafuyu did it. It was definitely the left hand on their shoulders and then they were very close… 

“That’s fine, I’ll teach you.” Mafuyu gently intertwines the composer’s wandering left hand with her right one and presses her left palm against Kanade’s shoulder blade, stepping forward close enough that their breaths mingled. “Let your right hand mirror my left.”

Kanade tries to copy Mafuyu, letting her right hand press against Mafuyu’s shoulder blade, almost as if they were seconds away from an embrace. “Like this?”

The composer catches the tiny inhale from Mafuyu from how close they are and decides to be a bit bolder by stepping forward and pressing her forehead to Mafuyu’s temple. “Ah, and if I step on your toes, please forgive me in advance. Would you like to take the lead?”

A heartbeat. “Yes.”

Mafuyu steps forward with her left foot. Kanade steps back with her right.

Mafuyu steps to the right with her right foot. Kanade steps left with her left.

Mafuyu closes her left foot to her right, and Kanade steps onto Mafuyu’s foot.

“Sorry,” Kanade says, pulling back from the embrace-like dance position to better look at her feet, catching a glimpse of Mafuyu’s flushed face before being pulled back against Mafuyu’s chest by a strong nudge forward from the purple-haired woman’s hand on her back.

“It’s fine.” Mafuyu nuzzles her cheek into Kanade’s hair, “I don’t mind.”

Kanade pauses, her mind battling between her desire to not step on Mafuyu’s toes and her desire to stay in their very comfortable position. She decides on the latter, resolving to simply get better.

Perhaps it was the moment, or perhaps it was simply built into her, etched into her very soul made of the thing that music was made of, that Kanade breathes in a beat before stepping forward with her left foot with Mafuyu mirroring it perfectly. The two of them fall into a comfortable rhythm, both of their hearts pounding to the beat of a metronome for their own little waltz.

“What was that?” Mafuyu asks, “I’ve noticed before, but you always take a breath together with the rest of the musicians before starting a piece.”

Kanade hums, trying to pay attention to what she says and where she steps. “It’s like counting us off, but more subtle. We take a breath together to set the tempo and then we start the piece.” It was time for her to take a step back. She carefully does so.

“Did you think of a song for this occasion already?” Mafuyu asks, a hint of amusement and amazement lingering in her usual monotone.

“Several,” Kanade admits, pulling away just so they could face each other. “In fact, you’ve heard some of them before.”

Mafuyu’s eyes widen by the slightest of margins and her foot falters, tripping over seemingly nothing with only their holds on each other preventing her from falling. 

Kanade blinks, but luckily her arms brace themselves faster than her mind and she is left barely supporting Mafuyu’s weight with her own strength. 

“… Mafuyu? Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” Mafuyu nods and stares up at her. Kanade’s own cheeks flush red as she realizes just how close they are to each other. She’s staring at me. What do I do? I should help her up, my arms are getting tired… 

… But then again, I do like seeing her looking up at me for a change.

She bites her tongue. Her own desire disgusts her.

“Kanade,” Mafuyu says.

Kanade finds herself back to where she was, arms still somehow managing to summon enough strength to hold the most precious thing in the world. “Yes?”

Their eyes meet with Kanade’s own gentle ripples staring at all the transitions of dusk, and she finds herself getting lost yet again. You don’t notice it much from a distance, but Mafuyu’s eyes start as a hint of dark purple that eventually fades into a navy blue until it finally turns to a light blue when the light hits it at the right angle. 

Then her eyes drift down, noticing the well-hidden eye bags underneath the eye, the dulled edges of something numb and used until blunt. Finally, she stares at the line of pink, slightly parted, and watches as the edges of Mafuyu’s lips curl up, a small smile more genuine than her large beaming ones. 

Mafuyu’s arms loop around her neck, tethering herself to Kanade. The composer brings her eyes up and notices the other’s intent stare before it glances down at her own lips. Just like the first time their gazes aligned, Kanade knows exactly what is asked of her.

“May I?” Mafuyu asks, one hand brushing a stray strand of silvery-white locks of hair away from Kanade’s cheek and tucking it behind her ear. The simple touch burns.

“You may,” Kanade says with a small smile as she slowly leans down, but not completely. The distance is hard to cross alone.

Mafuyu easily closes the distance between them and meets her halfway.

It’s a horrible decision really; the crown princess, now a queen of an entire kingdom, and a cursed bard, now little more than an oath and a secret. 

I want this.

She shouldn’t, but she’s always been selfish; always wanting more than life gives her. Then again, wasn’t it human nature to be selfish; to want what they can’t have? 

Love is pain, the tearing of hearts, and the words that curse. It’s a game to win, but Kanade only knows how to lose. And yet, it seems that the both of them get a bit stronger together than apart, that pain gets a bit more bearable when Mafuyu listens, and the problems seem a bit easier to overcome when the two of them face it together…

…this might be everything she’s ever dreamed of. 

The harpsichord keeps the music on the beat as people find their dance partners for the evening and the next song. It’s a grand celebration, after all. It is their favorite princess’ ascension to the throne. Everybody swarms around the princess, each one of them adding to the weight upon her shoulders. Nobles from all across the land have come to give their greetings and gifts. Yet all their gifts are tactless, more bribes and bargains than anything else. They try too hard to be noticed by the girl they’ve put on top of a pedestal.

It matters not, though.

Amid the room full of people, the crown princess only has her sights on one, and as their eyes meet, they both give each other a small nod. They would not be each other’s first dance, but they promise each other their last.

And when the people have left the ballroom and the nobles rest in the rooms provided for them, the newly crowned Queen leaves for her own room, not to be disturbed.

Somewhere else, Kanade stands underneath the moonlight as Mafuyu joins her on the balcony. The two are partners in a dance that transcends time, music, life, and healing.

There is still a long way to go, but every step forward will not be taken alone.