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The spire had countless arches.
In such a surreal, uncanny way, the walls of the tower stretched on the inside far more than it was physically possible. There were long corridors and even longer hallways, and halls and a ballroom so long that he could walk and walk and likely end where he started.
But he loved it. He learned to love that and the impossible extent of the gardens, and the weird plants that thrived there; threatening to bite all caring hands, hunting other forms of life that dared to cross.
What the servant loved more than anything was the white river, or this very space.
The hall had arched windows that bordered on a cathedral design, with stone curling and edging within the chiseled confines. Beyond was a light so blue that it washed out all colour present, leaving the black and white tiles appearing smeared by the ocean instead.
Moonlight bathed everything, the gothic windows lacking glass. Whatever warm or cold air was trickling inside was something he long grew used to. It's been long—too long.
As decades passed, he learned patience. He learned practice. He keened to study what he knew would please his master upon return.
Black Sapphire learned to love the moon. He loved all its phases and all its intricate colours, and most importanly, he loved this very moment.
Love. A word that weighed the tongue more than food or wine, but he felt that it was exactly that one that described this. The host knew he would never really let it slip past his lips.
In this stretch of an impossible ballroom with a crystalline chandelier and ceiling so high it was overcome by darkness he waited. Of course he did. Black Sapphire moved his eyes over the space when the black noise began to dance in his vision, catching himself on the sharp edges of the pillars or the structure that awaited him in the centre.
It was the only thing that was really highlighted in this very space.
Out in the open stood an instrument, illuminated from above like a theatre's main actor. Black Sapphire took keen care of it in the decades that passed, and since it was made of an impossible stone and the hair of the witches, it stood better than a wood equivalent wood.
The keys were bone, carved by hand and all kissed before they were put in their rightful place, and the pedals were crystals that he managed to whisk away after ensuring they sounded perfectly.
He was here almost everyday in the millenia that passed. He knew he could do it, for real this time.
And Black Sapphire had been impatient. He waited, and when the beast of deceit finally returned and bathed him in the sweet light of approval, he waited some more. And he did not let the impatience spill from his lips like the words he longed to say, because he waited before, and he could wait now.
At the end, the deed was done. They celebrated the victory of their master regaining his power, and—begrudgingly—welcomed the new guest in the endless spire.
Black Sapphire disliked that part the most. He knew if not for the blond heathen, his master would've been here already.
A loud creak of the stone doors echoed through the emptiness, and the host couldn't help but snap his head back. He heard little else through the darkness, saw even less, but he didn't need any of that to know.
Black Sapphire pushed off the darkened pillar, back straight in flawless posture. One arm folded behind his back, and he only felt the air grow colder. It was a feeling he grew to cherish, just as he prefered the darkness over the sunlight.
Most light was artificial anyway.
When the beam from above finally brushed the beast's figure, the host allowed his body to bend in a bow he knew all too well.
"Master Shadow Milk," he said. "The piano is tuned."
It was not an invitation, but an information. A statement that the doors were open, had Shadow Milk willed to cross.
When Black Sapphire straightened, he took note of the beast's clawed finger swiping on the surface. It was a grand piano, fortepian in one of the languages he knew. And it was ready.
And oh, now he wasn't sure if he was ready too.
"Of course it is," the beast hummed, tipping back in the air slightly. Whenever the beast of deceit graced his presence in the form comparable to the size of his own, it felt like some sort of a divinity looked to him instead. It's been a while. "I didn't expect anything less from you."
Shadow Milk's feet touched the ground, hands moving behind his coattails to swipe them back. He sat with style and measure, but there was something unpoetic about the tap of his hand on the other end of the seat.
He didn't need to wait long. Black Sapphire already moved to sit beside him.
The beast stretched their arms in front of them, an uncaring yawn for show slipping. "My my, how long has it been. You won't stumble behind, will ya?"
"Of course not, Master."
"Then I assume you've been… practicin'?"
The host stared at the familiar script in front, laid in the open. Yes, yes he was. And it was hard to practice alone the kind of tune that Shadow Milk had him playing, but he tried.
Back in the day, maybe not so much now, he remembered that the virtue said that trying was enough. Black Sapphire knew now that it wouldn't be.
He hoped to keep up this time. It's been over a thousand years now, he had to.
He was not a disappointment.
"I was," the host said, watching the beast crack their knuckles. And he didn't dare say that he was going at the piano for the hours that the beast was busy with his new toy, because that's all that Truthless Recluse was. A toy. A thing that Black Sapphire hoped he would play with, and then discard. "As well as I could've alone."
"Right," Shadow Milk scoffed, but it wasn't hurtful. It almost sounded playful—almost teasing, as if the years slowly ebbed away some of the cruelty he initially had. The host was there to see it all in its full phases. "Right. Can't improve much without someone pulling your ear, mmm?"
He wasn't sure what to say, so he just rubbed his wrist.
"So," the beast flicked the pages of music dully, back to the first one. It was an easy start. "Let's try. I am ever so curious to see how that goes this time!"
Black Sapphire should be assured, but where there was excitement before, he felt something else. Something heavy like oil that his heart struggled to push, he might as well get set on fire.
The host laid a single hand on the piano—his right one, so close to Shadow Milk's side he had to be careful not to cross the boundary. He knew which tunes went first by then, his other hand laid limply in his lap.
That's how you play this song. That's how you play the poetry written on the music sheets, crafted by a mind so grand that no other could hope to comprehend it. That's how you play 'the death waltz's last crescendo'.
Black Sapphire never asked why it was called the way it was, despite its familiarity to the song that the witches were told to sing. There was no explanation as to why it was a piece for two rather than one, either, even if both of them were allowed a single hand only.
He keenly learned which keys of the sheet belonged to him, which ones were to never be played by his hand. The abstract intructions written across the pages were of value more sentimental than real.
He assumed.
Black Sapphire sat straighter, inhaling slowly, filling his lungs in a way that should've brought peace. He didn't dare to move, or to look to his master. He waited for the first key to be played, vaguely aware of Shadow Milk's left hand.
"Quit bein' so stiff," the master mused. "You have nothing to worry about if you do it right, no?"
Right. Right. He nodded, but even when he forced himself to appear looser, sweat beaded beneath the curtain of his raven bangs. He truly, really wanted to do it. And he would.
When Shadow Milk hit the first key, Black Sapphire moved his hand in measure. The song was slow at first, hence crescendo—scarce musical scores at first and even scarcer notes. Each hum of the music was low, calm, escalating with speed so small it was near unnoticeable. One finger, two fingers, three.
As the rhythm built and Black Sapphire sank the digits of his other hand into his thigh, his hand began to move across the keys. Where Shadow Milk hit them somewhere in the middle, the host found himself jumping from that point to the end.
And then the text over the sheet. 'Let the curtains twirl', he focused all his strength on aiding himself with his palm. His thumb then joined the four fingers that were steadily jumping, and his breath stopped all together.
'Roll the wheels in!' Black Sapphire crashed his fingers into the white again, but the beast was not satisfied. More of the notes flew onto the sheet, page flicking by itself with a magnificent, crisp crinkle. There were dried tears of red on some pages and folds where the score was more difficult, and one of them almost caught when the shadow twitched.
He was starting to feel his heartbeat now, knuckles feeling the burn when he pushed—and he tried faster, keeping up with the beast of deceit even as the notes groaned deeper, and as his body shook from the quickness of it.
Each echo vibrated through the air, the spire relishing in the chaotic frequency. It sank through the skin and reached for the throat, and it would've been a magnificent display if this had been organs instead of a piano.
So many tunes layered over that when the score cried 'drink the poison' he had to fight to let air in. Black Sapphire felt his fingers twitch, no, no no—and when the music finally reached half of its success, his shoulders tensed.
Shadow Milk took a sharp glance to the side, and his own, frost-clad digits swam across the piano as if they were always meant to. He didn't have to jump harmonies or divert his hand to the other end, nor did he have to chase the pace of someone else. He set the rhythm. If he said to jump, you jump.
The shadowy tendril flipped the page harder, and Black Sapphire began to feel his eyes sweat. The stress seeped into him like poison as he choked back a sob, and the ache of his thigh became unbearable when his manicured fingers dug in deeper. He hoped he did not ruin the material.
He bit his lip, carried on—he had to. 'Now, die!'
And it was then when Shadow Milk's hand slammed onto the keys so hard the piano creaked. Black Sapphire chased the score like a moth chases flame, and the tips of his fingers were becoming red—he banged onto the keys from the soreness, and just as he stretched his thumb to begin the finale—
Black Sapphire's hand jumped back, the digits rigid and shaking as he winced suddenly. His hand cramped up to a degree it refused to widen or close, and he immediately used his other one to massage. He didn't dare turn his head up, knuckles cracking when he straightened them.
Hunched like this, he let his locks cover his vision. He felt the stare into him as one feels a knife twist.
"…You practiced?" The beast mused again, incredulity tinging his tune.
"I-I'm sorry," Black Sapphire replied near immediately, rubbing the sore hand into his thigh to warm it. His heart was knocking onto his chest as if it would rather go, and when he finally looked at his master the way he should be looked at—
The beast of deceit sat straight, hand resting on the keys in a weird relaxation. Their head was straight ahead still, but shadows covered most of their face when their eyes remained stuck to the host.
He wanted to shrink and disappear. Apologise, try again, succeed this time. But Shadow Milk's patience was thin today, and the victory just hours ago never quite quelled his short temper.
What he was gifted was silence, and his throat tightened to fill it in, lest he is left in this horrible, bone crushing discomfort.
"I remember the notes, I just—I just miscalculated, I swear. I will get it right this time."
"You better." He said too neutrally to be taken as polite. But he did have mercy, even if it were minimal. Few seconds passed that Black Sapphire was allowed to stretch his hand, and the moment he put it on the instrument once more, Shadow Milk began anew.
But the new pace lacked patience and the buildup, and it did not start as it did before.
Black Sapphire had to fight to catch the beast in the middle, and even then he was rushed. His fingers skimmed the keys, jumping to the next ones before he could even release the one prior. His bottom lip was bitten until the skin was starting to hurt, and the ache that steadily built in his knuckles before was blossoming anew.
So little to the grand finish, a page, a breath—the shadow flicked the script.
'Now, die!"
The piano creaked off-tune suddenly, Black Sapphire's hand sliding over the keys uncontrollably; unintentionally. The rhythm broke and the music popped like a poor-quality balloon, and he hunched over.
Redness seeped from the crack between skin and his black-painted nail, and he held his wrist dully.
And hell, how did he ever think he could practice this alone?
Black Sapphire's breath ragged. He placed his sore hand on the piano before he thought better of it. "I—I can do this, I swear I can," he stuttered on his words, free hand brushing his bangs.
His cheeks were purple from frustration and the strain, and he so badly wished he could drink a cold glass of water, or something stronger.
Shadow Milk's eerie silence prompted him to continue.
"I can." The host affirmed anew. "I can do it, I will do it this time."
"I—I know the score by heart, why can't I…"
"Let me try again, Master."
"Please, let me try again."
"Please… I…"
Black Sapphire looked up despite the slump, but the beast did not move an inch. No, they were sat as they were moments prior, and the sharpened edge of a clawed nail seemed to rub into the pristine key, as if wanting to carve something in it.
"So," Shadow Milk mused, a rumble. "That's all you got."
"As—As I said, I practiced. I did the work, so—"
"—Yet you remain as unable as ever." Shadow Milk took his hand off the piano, slow. Measured. "And greet me with such disappointment."
When the beast clicked his tongue, he felt it was truly over. It might've been, because why was he even hoping it would be any different this time? He couldn't play it right back then, not now. It mattered little how his audiences screamed their appreciation, and all the achievements he collected over the years of waiting seemed empty.
Black Sapphire could cherish the medals, until he couldn't.
And he would never live up to it. Because he was wrong. His hands were wrong and witches, why did he ever expect to do this well?
All he could do was try. He might as well never do it again.
Black Sapphire thought to apologise, to say sorry for the poor effort and try to make it up to the beast. He never wanted to subject the other to such acoustic terror, but when his lips opened, it wasn't he who spoke.
"Oh, witches!" The beast sneered, twisting their body back. "Ya done creeping in the shadows? I would've thought you'd have the guts to make yourself known by now!"
The host's shoulders squared. He immediately turned over, craning his back.
A distinct shape moved in the darkness, revealing itself from behind the pillar, ever so slow and contemplative. The light first caught the blond locks that remained tucked beneath a hood, which they pulled back moments after.
Truthless Recluse stared as impassively as he had before, and Black Sapphire's fingers clenched the edge of the piano. He didn't know how his hand found itself there either.
The beast tutted. "What? You better have something to say if you're gonna be sneaking around in my domain."
"It's not sneaking around if most doors are wide open," the recluse scoffed. He eyed the piano and then them both, though his eyes lingered on the host more than he'd like to admit. Truthless Recluse dusted off the side of his robe. "That tells of little effort at privacy."
Shadow Milk's brow cocked. "You sure got mouthy in less than a few hours."
"And you sure got louder."
If someone listened closely, they'd hear the beast's teeth grinding.
And, to really sell it, the blond felt prompted to add: "Well, at least your cacophony is more harmonious as this off-beat monstrosity."
"Ha," Shadow Milk keened his face into a sneer. He could explode, he could blow up, he could behead. But to do so would be to admit his own irritation. "Now, I've seen many fools claim things they don't understand to be futile or pointless. I just haven't taken you as the type to dwell in such idiocy."
"Then I presume a piece should be able to defend itself," Truthless Recluse crossed his arms over his chest. "Rather than be protected by half-baked words."
Between this argument, the back and forth jabs that brought nothing but the echoing hullabaloo, Black Sapphire sat wondering. Something else left the beast's mouth, mocking and daring, and the recluse replied as dully as he did before. And so the jester got louder, and the hermit got snider, and he honestly sort of hoped he never came to this hall tonight.
Something about the beat, something about the tune. The hermit spoke of dissonant chords, the jester of unfulfilled potential and greviances that were surely making the hermit say these things—be it from jealousy or something else.
"If the score was correct, and if the notes do not lie, then the piece is just discordant."
Black Sapphire rubbed at the back of his neck. He dared not interrupt, busy with thoughts of how? Why did the recluse speak and challenge the other so openly? How come Shadow Milk allowed it?
"No," the beast tilted their head. "The piece is just fine."
"Really? Then, witches, does it sound bad."
"Oh, yea? Well, that part certainly isn't my fault!" When Shadow Milk's head craned to Black Sapphire, he felt as if he might melt instead. Like some acid seeping into the soil, or anything alike, if it meant he wasn't here. "Since you are oh sow sure of yourself, how would you do it?"
Truthless Recluse tilted his head, something like a glint dancing beneath his lashes. He took a calm step forward, looking at the keys, then at the jester.
He said nothing, yet he said everything.
Shadow Milk raised a hand, snapping his fingers. He addressed the host as one addresses the weather. "Off you go, then."
He blinked. Shifting in his seat, he was hoping he did not hear it right. Black Sapphire pointed slightly at himself, eyes widened. For all the brilliance that he usually talked with, it nulled out in shock. "M…Me?"
"Uhhh…" The jester pretended to think. Then, he got annoyed. "Who else? Scooot!"
Black Sapphire's heart beat unevenly. His fingers sank into the small bench when he finally straightened, taking his diminished pride and minimal grace to finally step back. He went around the seat and situated himself near a pillar, but not before he gave his master one last look.
Now, Shadow Milk was no longer looking at him.
The beast bored into the hermit, who approached the grand piano leisurely. He swiped his fingers over the keys first, before finally tucking his robes beneath himself as he sat.
"If ya have a hard time seein' the score, I can make it larg—"
"No need," he scoffed. "I've heard enough. Doubt I'd understand any of your needless scribbling anyway."
Shadow Milk frowned, but whatever scoff he wanted to convey was stopped. Truthless Recluse raised a single hand, right, laying it near the piano's edge.
"Right, right." The beast finally said, straightening anew to face the instrument. "Just don't beg me to slow to keep up with you, I so despise party poppers."
"…Likewise."
Staring at the piano, it meant something else to the recluse. He once relished the intricacy of all its buttons, the shape or the pedals. Now such cherish lost the meaning.
He could recall when the sight of something as simple as petals or butterflies filled him with a strange hope for better tomorrow's, but now such small things symbolised the idea that all hope is to be crushed.
Just as he would crush this piece, undoubtedly. When did he get so cocky?
Truthless Recluse made sure to not give Shadow Milk the satisfaction of rushing. He first stretched his fingers in front of himself, withholding a sound similiar to a yawn, before putting his hand on the piano anew.
"Why one hand, though?"
"Because it's harder that way, Silly Vanilly."
Shadow Milk's finger flicked in the air, the darkened tendril behind the piano readying itself to flip the music sheet. And then he pressed the key in with a deep rumbling sound.
The hermit responded before a breath could pass, letting his fingers dance to the beast's tune. Slow as before, measuring, and then it built. The melody arched with a cry, and just as Truthless Recluse chased the other's speed, it escalated.
And oh was it harder than it looked like.
Shadow Milk, adamant on proving his point, stuck out his claws on the piano, single knee barely bouncing. It was almost as if the structure trembled in the ave of this monstrous mix of harmony, and just as the sound became ugly, it mellowed anew.
There was a break in the hermit's mind when the obnoxious slopes of sound reverberated over and over, and as the incoherent writing on the page swam past his eyes, he shoved the keys to prove a point.
The shaking of their shoulders was uneven, still strained. Truthless Recluse replied to him faster, harder, running after the score—stomping on the jester's feet and forcing him to persist quicker.
Shadow Milk glanced at him from the corner of his eye, mouth curling unpleasantly. He leaned forward and allowed the piano to cry.
Biting off more than he could chew, Truthless Recluse found the tips of his fingers strained. Each aggressive press was made even angrier by the insistent pace, and he fought to keep his knuckles from locking on him. The breathing came heavier, 'drink the poison', and he found it hard to time it right.
He had to watch Shadow Milk's hands, the sheet, his own posture. He had to time his breathing so it gradually stopped interrupting the shoves at the keyboard.
When melody shattered in thousand of slices, something in his strained wrist tensed abnormally. The muscle pulled in the sort of pain that was told to be squeaky, and an off-tune sob left the piano when his fingers slipped.
Truthless Recluse wrapped his hand around the other one immediately.
And as such, the sound ceased. The beast slid their hand down effortlessly, flicking off a lock of his hair—showing off, proud like a peacock.
"My my, all bark no bite," Shadow Milk snickered, though it wasn't the gentle, friendly kind of a noise. "You always promise gold and deliver bronze."
Truthless resisted the evident bait. He did not even touch the hook, really. Silence echoed where there was a cacophony, and his shoulders sloped inward, until only the shadows were gracing his face.
Beneath the washed gold of his bangs, he grinned. The corners of his lips were pulled and oh did he chuckle.
"What's so funny, eh?"
"Nothing," he replied dismissively, pulling Shadow Milk to wish to pry. "I think I get it now."
The hermit gave himself less time to recover. He already moved his hand back on the keys, much to the beast's shock. Strangely enough to have the other's lips part.
"Hey—" he uttered.
A ring of the piano followed. Shadow Milk was ready to argue that this was out of tune—wrong! No, it is to be played in correct order, and it's wrong to do it otherwise!
But when Truthless Recluse moved onto yet another note, all the beast did was to scoff. He danced his fingers on the keys to catch up on the score, which he did easily—with grace.
When the page broke and flicked, Truthless Recluse's hand suddenly swam over the beast's, clicking the keys that laid in front. The reach of his left hand to the right end of the piano was challenging, but it was no more difficult than what he did before.
Shadow Milk gasped in offence, but it never ceased.
No, Truthless Recluse leaned closer, and he whammed at the keys that should be the beast's to play, scaring off the blue fingers into the other end—forcing them to play the second melody. He watched the piano vibrate at the angle and the off-beat way that the notes were hit in their measure, where there should be three per fragment, the hermit squeezed in four.
And where the nonsense was creaking through the spire came the half, and Truthless was ready.
The 'drink the poison' was met by Shadow Milk instead, forced to play what he did not play, outdone and outnumbered by the velocity of the sound.
Not giving him time to protest, the hermit went faster, his elbow nudging the beast each time—and he was the one being chased, now. Shadow Milk's fingers upheld the melody sloppily, and when the arch of the music came, Truthless Recluse saw the clench of his free fist.
Good.
Truthless Recluse whacked his hand on the keys, not caring if he placed each note in the correct order anymore. The strangest part was how naturally this side came, because where he had to move his hand slightly, Shadow Milk's was found jumping across the keys.
Beneath the melody, he heard the beast's breath hold—then hitch. Then slip unsteadily.
But he was only a mortal.
The previous cramping began to make itself know just around this finale—'Now, die!'—and he fought the urge to scream. Warm beads began to form on the hermit's brow when his hits became more aggressive, and the bottom of his thumb began to feel creaky.
Truthless Recluse reached his free hand to his playing one, warm and light magic pooling out of it like smoke. It wrapped around his skin and sank in deep, and Shadow Milk had no time to react.
"Th—That's—! Cheating!"
How he barely heard the words.
The script was flipped anew by the shadow, last page accented by incoherent scribbling that he did not care to read. Faster, harder, until the keys trembled and became stale. Until he had to lean and nearly cover Shadow Milk's vision as he did.
Truthless cursed silently as the beast chased by, but it was of no use.
The final slams came, more sound of creaking keys rather than actual notes, and the crescendo stopped at its peak.
An unfinished melody put to an end on the mountain that it would jump off. Neither of them dared to budge when the silence screamed in their ears. In fact, he was sure he could hear the stars outside wink and crinkle.
Until he realised it was just the sound of Shadow Milk's ragged breath.
The first was the hermit, at least. He removed his arm from in front of the beast, uncrossing their uncomfortable position. The line of Shadow Milk's shoulders trembled in withheld breaths, and he leaned over the keys in a way that was less than graceful.
For that brief moment, it felt like they were alone with nothing but their breath in the hall. The beast made no sound other than that when the recluse pushed himself to stand.
He only sucked in a breath when he watched him leave.