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The tension fell from his shoulders as he gestured to the castle. “Then let’s go home.”
Sometime later, I woke from a deep sleep to find the space beside me empty and the mountain of black fur that’d been the reason our room kept expanding, gone. Slipping from the bed, the marble floor cold on the bottom of my feet, I tied a robe around my waist and opened the bedroom door to peek out. And though I couldn’t see a thing, a single haunted note echoed down the hallway like a string tied to my heart, tugging me toward Orin. Toward the throne room.
He didn’t stop playing when I walked in, hadn’t heard the door open. I watched him for a long time with awe and so much respect for the burden he carried with far more dignity than I would have. The moonlight seeping through the window high above lent a godly aura to his presence, highlighting the strong features of his face and the graceful curves of the cello in his hands. The instrument was an extension of his very soul, a steadfast companion during these nocturnal hours. This was where he came when his mind got busy, when eternity felt a little too long to serve.
His music, though hauntingly beautiful, carried an unmistakable undercurrent of peace and fullness. The mournful notes, like whispers from the past, filled the room, mingling with the hushed stillness of the castle. I’d never felt so much peace as I had in that moment. We’d come full circle, him and I. And there would be an eternity of euphoria because of a single moment on top of the roof when I’d accidentally married the wrong man.
“Do you know what the tonic of a song is?”
I’d never heard the piece end, spiraling so far into the beauty of it and our memories. I hadn’t seen him look at me either. I shook my head and walked around the massive hounds snoring peacefully on the floor in order to sit on the arm of his chair. He still couldn’t bring himself to sit upon his father’s throne of gilded skulls.
“It’s the most important note in a piece of music. It’s the destination, the end. Every other note’s single purpose is to lead you back to the tonic.”
“That sounds lovely, like poetry.”
He set his cello to the side and pulled me into his lap, sliding a lock of hair behind my ear. “I thought I loved you, but I was wrong. We both ran from madness for so long, love was impossible. There’s only obsession. Only compulsion. You are not a desire, Wife. You’re a godsdamn addiction. Love makes you a weakness. But you’re my strength. My future. Mine. All of you belongs to me. Every heartbeat, every breath. Every second of your eternal life is mine and mine alone. In malevolence, in anger, in hysteria and darkness, you are unwavering. You’re the crescendo, my love. The pinnacle of every song, the climb, and the purpose. And I will love you beyond the final note.”
“I think you need to go back to weapons training for your own sanity. You’re losing your edge, Husband.”
“I hate you,” he chuckled.
THE END
