Setting: Grand Room
Time: Night 008; very late
Summary: Trucy stumbles through the darkness and comes across the piano.
Warnings: AAANGST and a very sad magician girl.
She had completely lost track of everything.
Time whispered by without feeling, brushing against her skin, never changing her substance unless it was making it thinner, making it dirtier, pushing what was left along to various darkened corners and darkened rooms; dark, dark, dark. It had been so dark for so long, even the dimmest of lights burned her eyes something terrible now. But there weren't many of those around, and she'd learned by now how to avoid them, where there would be nothing but safe, cold, loud shadows to keep her perpetually blind and dumb to the world beyond what her sore fingers could touch, beyond the scrape of knees and elbows on the floor; beyond the unceasing sounds that drilled into her ears and mind.
It had almost replaced the words in her head, those sounds. The screaming, crying, banging, crashing, the sky falling in on itself; like a dragon in a story she'd heard so long ago and so far away, curling in and eating it's own tail, making a neverending circle of it's own life and destruction. How had it come to this? How had she fallen through the looking glass into this horrorland, and why? She missed her home-- her family and friends --so badly. She'd had a friend here, once upon a time, but he'd turned into one of those millions of shadows filling her eyes, always seeming so close but impossible to touch, so pretend she couldn't be certain they were real or just a dream.
Oh, it would be wonderful to dream. When she fell asleep, it was no different than being awake. It was all just black, deep, dark, and so, so loud. There was nothing in this world but the scrabble of her hands-- her weak, pitiful hands that had never done more than simple magic, raised once before to defend herself from the blackness, the void, but it was useless, always useless --over whatever was under her. Smooth floor, pockmarked floor, sticky and wet floor-- don't ask, never ask, you don't want to know --something warm, something cold...
Something wooden, sticking out of the ground. Smooth. Furniture probably, but it would help to try and figure out where she was and what was there. It hurt to run into things; she would probably be appalled at the bruises she'd surely collected during her roaming. Up along the short leg, to a smooth, flat plane. Long, but not very wide. Wide enough to sit on and be just this side of uncomfortable. A bench. She pulled herself up and slid on it, the compressed veins in her legs throbbing as the blood started to flow unhindered again and knees almost knocking into something very close to the bench. Her hands reached out, unafraid by this point, to touch it, causing a flurry of new sound with the motion.
She was sitting at the piano.
It was the most awful and beautiful sound, her fingers plunking dumbly against the cool ivory keys she couldn't see. She'd looked at the piano sheet music on the piano at home, unused as it was, but it would do her no good here. They keys were foreign and strange to the touch, making only the haphazard song of her confusion, giving a tune to what her very existence had become. Blind, blank, black, empty.
She put her head to the piano, smashing out more abominable notes and letting the cold relief of saline cut through the grime of her face. It was never supposed to be like this.