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Rosalyne often sang on the pinnacles of the palace, all by herself.
No one was brave enough to question her. No one really cared. It was an angelic voice few would dare to shut down.
One night, the icy winds had carried the tunes to the laboratory on the second floor.
Zandik knew not much about music. It held honest emotions - not that he knew much about them either.
That night, he might have seen the true Rosalyne for the first time. She had been angry, of course. Hissing at him, screeching that her Majesty's winds had betrayed her. He was an intruder, as he so often was, unwanted in a private moment at a secret, intimate place.
Curiosity made him trespass.
"Why do you sing?"
It was a profane question. Maybe it was its simplicity so unheard out of the Doctor’s mouth that silenced her tirade.
Signora stood between the columns, snow twirling around her bare feet. It had melted around her form, the see-through, bright red nightgown spilling around her. Frozen footprints were all over the round towers' balcony, as if she had danced, a waltz maybe, while chanting her own ambiente.
Since he joined the Fatui ten years ago, Dottore had reached her current, frozen age in looks. These days, they were often mistaken for a couple.
The Doctor & the Fair Lady, have you heard?
An odd match.
Beauty & the Beast, but you will have to guess who is who, haha!
Dottore pulled his thin lab coat tighter - to no avail. He would surely catch a cold, that was a given. Frost bit at his toes, his nose must be red already and he could not feel his cheeks anymore. His hair protested, lashes quickly turning stiff.
Curiosity made him endure.
She turned fully, locking eyes with him. No mask, no eyepatch, just a blind, milky eye surrounded by hypertrophic scars.
"My pride and pain will be my downfall", she mused and gazed upon the far east. "Maybe tomorrow, maybe in five hundred years. They are already hindering me from speaking what I truly desire. Yet when I sing, the maiden can return. Signora would never admit those turmoils you have witnessed. Rosalyne brings serenity."
She always knew what she needed to feel better.
Dottore admired and envied this quality equally. He could not discern what his body and soul wanted when tears smudged his notes, when his claws tore through machines or when his heart constricted like a flying serpent whenever he was near their first Mage.
"Music has great power. Perhaps, Zandik should give it a try as well."
She spoke without malice. Sometimes, he asked himself if she could read minds too. To have so much empathy for the people around her, soaking their moods up like a sponge, unwillingly, wasn't it burdensome?
As he asked her which instrument he should pick, she suggested the piano.
"It suits you. 88 keys as your puppets. You control the strings without hitting them. One day, you will be a master player."
Back then, he was offended by the backhanded compliment. Centuries later, it came to him that she had not only spoken of learning an instrument. She had seen his potential, the man he would become, and she had not judged. Rosalyne was a mean woman. Her jabs always hold some truth in them. Dottore liked that a lot.
The next day, she placed him in front of an ivory piano at her mansion in Witch Garden's End.
Her invitation was delivered like a batch of honor. Dottore suspected their meetup to be a singular occurrence. He doubted it was meant as anything beyond a jest.
As Rosalyne cleared the mansion of staff and security, he reconsidered his assumption.
"You fuel the rumors if you send them all away."
"Oh, I hope so. Maybe then, their advances will halt. Who would dare to oppose the scary Second Harbinger of Snezhnaya?"
Dottore rolled his eyes and opened the fall board. Huh, it moved... was that fur? At closer inspection, two blue moons spilled out of a white-furred cat on the white-glazed piano.
"Ah, that's Adelaide." Rosalyne shooed the cat away. "Don't mind her."
Dottore returned his attention to the soundboard. It was an intimidating thing. He leaned higher, taking in the magnificent arrangement of strings. It was not so different from a human body, a shell that hosted organs -
"If you take it apart, my wrath will befall you."
Obediently, Dottore sank back onto the stool.
"How do I start?"
"That, you will have to find out for yourself", she smiled wickedly.
Dottore scrunched his brows. A piano was not an instrument mastered in a single setting. People took lessons for a reason.
"You said you would teach me!"
"I said no such thing."
Dottore was fuming. She was right. He had assumed.
"My dear, let your curiosity guide you. You have long fingers and a hearing that puts dogs to shame. You will figure it out."
Dottore's mouth turned downwards. He thought he had hidden his special talents well.
"You scare me, witch."
"Don't pout, heretic. Your ears twitch at the slightest noise." She went up the staircase, cherry dress trailing behind her. "There is a small collection in my library on the third floor. Go read some, I'll take a bath."
The books were written in mondstadtian. He took it as an excuse to learn the foreign language along the way, silently aiming it would secure Rosalyne's companionship. Her sumerian was flawless, so Dottore would show her equal respect.
Their first duet went horrible. Two hours were barely enough to get the basics into his head. Adelaide's scrutinizing gaze from above her basket on the shelf was not helping either.
The music sheet mocked him as he stumbled over the keys like a schoolboy, and the rare correct hits were accompanied by the sharp clank clank clank of his long claws.
She laughed.
Dottore left Witch Garden's End properly and utterly humbled.
In his case, humiliation served as a powerful catalyst. Music was a subject he had never dug into. The excitement that came with pursuing a new field of knowledge was doubled by the prospect to share it in the future. He practised a whole month until he felt good enough to face her again. Safe to say, not a single work-related project was done in the meantime.
First, he brought a piano for himself. He took it apart piece by piece and put it back together to understand how it produced sound. Its complexity made his blood boil. Only a true genius could have invented such a marvelous instrument! Visualizing the hammer hitting the strings from short and thin to long and thick was like ecstasy to his senses. Followed by this newfound interest, he issued a study in sound waves. While irrelevant at the present, it could be groundwork for future research projects.
Second, Dottore brought a gramophone, which was harder to get his hands on than the damn piano. Even thirty years after the cataclysm, luxury items like these were still scarce. His financial endeavours resulted in the scolding of the century from their stingy Regrator. Dottore could not wait until that bumbling imbecile kicked the bucket.
Listening to Fontaine's and Mondstadt's renowned artists, Dottore gained a feeling for the desired style. He played duets up and down wherever he went, already planning a portable music box in his countless sketchbooks.
For the third and most difficult task in becoming a pianist, Dottore cut his nails. Sacrifrices had to be made.
His efforts paid off. Dottore had conquered yet another craft. Admittedly, having all these complicated keys under his control was an intoxicating rush. This magnificent creation answered to him and if he played it to her liking, she would surely grant him more visits.
Rosalyne's voice faltered as he let his fingers struck whites and blacks, eyes glued on the music sheet. She was catching up again and again as he changed tempo and volume on a whim.
"Zandik, stop."
"Why?" Confident in his performance, he growled. "I hit all the right keys!"
"That's not the point. We are not in harmony. You... you play like you want to dominate. Instruments like these are to be revered, not subjugated! Leave that control freak of yours at home or I will end this at once."
"Maybe you are over-interpreting things."
"Don't be a dick. I can see that you love the instrument, not the music."
"It's a masterpiece of engineering", he whispered and caressed the white surface.
"And I wholeheartedly agree. But this is supposed to be a duet between Rosalyne and Zandik, not Signora and Dottore. There is no audience. You play for yourself and I sing for myself."
"Then I do not understand why you suggested a duet in the first place."
Rosalyne's sigh barely carried her whole frustration. Zandik would never change. He was equal parts narcissistic, brilliant and dumb. At a surface level, he recognized his flaws but why others perceived him the way they did went past his head. Deep down, she knew he would never learn why he was so messed up to begin with. That he would use such a simple and good creation like music as data and turn it into manipulation. Nothing genuine could ever come from the man who had hit the first key like it was a tool.
"I have allowed you to see me on top of that tower. If you are not ready to reciprocate, I will not push further. Music can be your outlet when you don't know where to put your loneliness, anger and longing. Impressing me is the last thing you should get out of this. If you would rather want to play by yourself, you are free to go."
"No! I... no. It's nice. Forming a connection. Please, give me another chance. Or... multiple, if your patience allows."
Rosalyne folded like Egeria's paper swans. Who could resist those pathetically begging crimson eyes?
Just like him, Rosalyne was selfish. If she made peace with his toxic nature and gave into the illusion of companionship she so yearned for, she may enjoy their shared time. He was so much worse than she was, and that she basked in that comfort gave her no right to judge his lack of understanding of human basics.
"My willingness depends on your next performance. Don't fuck it up, this song means a lot to me."
And so, Dottore began to prove his worth to her by the one piece that had haunted his dreams. He was not afraid of its complexity for a beginner like him, he was afraid of its impact. La Vaguelette brought forth an unknown warmth in his chest.
Rosalyne sang and while fontainian was another language he had yet to master, the meaning was carried along waves of sound and harmony. Adelaide purred against her legs. Crystal clear, her voice reached a part of him that the gramophone did not manage to touch. Now that he knew her reasoning, he felt a portion of what it meant to resonate.
There she was, the maiden from the tower. She lingered after the last verse left her soft lips, and after she reopened her bright eyes that dwelled in a different scene from another time.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
Rosalyne tilted her head and pondered over an answer. He spoke it like a fact, a mere statement, and somehow it meant more than all those wretched men who showered her with compliments.
"If I didn't know better, I would think you are hitting on me. But you are not into beauty", she proclaimed and draped her body over the piano, pushing her breasts right in front of his face. Unimpressed, he glanced over her very present form and turned his attention back to the keys. "You, my dear, are into old bearded mages who scowl all the time."
They both winced as he hit the next key terribly off-note. His fingers wavered as a deep flush crept up his neck. Denying would be pointless. He stood no chance against her.
"It is easy to forget that you were a scholar once", Dottore murmured. "Your observation talent will shape you into an excellent diplomat one day."
"Don't change the subject. Have you asked him out yet?"
Dottore scoffed. "Of course not."
"Why is that?"
"You know why."
Not really. But she had her suspicions. It was obvious that Dottore was creeped out by his own emotions. He had to figure that one out first.
On the other hand, Pierro was a troubled man with a heart unwanted to be pierced. She understood. Not many did. No mere human could comprehend. The death of another loved one would only shatter the fragile fundament he had rebuilt. This was something Zandik seemingly had already figured out.
"Promise me that you will tell him how you feel once you have reached immortality."
Dottore bit his lip. This woman knew too much for her own good. Were his intentions that easy to read?
"I am bold, not courageous. Pursuing love was never my forte."
"Music wasn't either until recently."
"Alright, alright, I shall give it a try. What's your excuse, then?"
"What do you mean?"
"The Tsaritsa is immortal. So are you. Obviously, you harbor strong feelings towards her and as per my bi-weekly observations, she shows you fourty-eight percent more affection than the rest of us. Since you can read people better than anyone else I have met, you seem to be aware of her adoration. This concludes my following question: Why do you hesitate?"
Rosalyne was too stunned to speak. So he didn't turn a blind eye to others. He analyzed and she interpreted. How befitting of their respective personalities. Yet, he came to the same conclusion. She searched for an answer every night she went to the tower to sing.
"I had a lover in my old life. Rostam was his name. He died a horrible death during the war. I could have prevented it, I was such a powerful witch, but I was not there. My heart still belongs to him and I am unsure whether it will ever belong to anyone else, as fierce and honest my feelings for Anastasya may be. Rostam would not like the woman I turned into. That bothers me, because while he had never seen me at my lowest, Anastasya will never see me at my best."
One look into his strange red eyes told her that Dottore really tried to understand her explanation. The gears were turning behind scrunched eyebrows and for the moment, his effort was enough.
"Let's continue." She rolled off the piano. "You can think about my wise words later."
"How considerate."
Zandik turned the sheet and straightened his posture.
".أنت لست بذلك السوء الذي تصوّر به نفسك"
You are not half as bad as you paint yourself to be.
"Und du bist nicht so unliebsam wie du glaubst."
And you are not as unlovable as you might think.