Black Ice

Memories of the foreseen day that shaped a girl's destiny.

"Thou art all ice. Thy kindness freezes."

William Shakespeare

Chapter I: Broken

The voice started out as a lone whisper that rose from the darkest corners of silence, but soon it grew into a mournful sigh of meaningless words.

Then, just as it had started, a group of cellos joined in with the voice, the air vibrating with their warming low tones that made the shadows swell as they followed the melody that had been set. A harp sung its few notes, the sound flowing like the water in a brook, giving the song a lighter tone.

The girl heard all of that, as she sat rooted to a bench besides a closed door.

No other sounds disturbed the quietness of the hallway, so there was nothing to distract her from the music, those melodic sounds that escaped through the frame of the wood built door and reached her ears, invading her thoughts.

She sat there, half of her hidden in shadows and the other half basked in the light from the only window in the hallway, her body as still as the freezing metal beneath her flattened palm, breathing as lightly as humanly possible and making no other sounds.

Then it was the violins' turn.

They pierced through everything and pulled the music higher and higher, the voice changing with them until the two sounds were indistinguishable from each other.

On the bench, the girl shut her eyes at the sound. The hand that was resting on her thigh, tightened around the neck of a small violin that lay beside her on the bench; one of the strings had broken close to the turning pegs, at the end of the neck, and was now digging into the white flesh of her fingers, drawing small angry red lines across her fingertips.

But neither flinch nor hiss followed. The ruby drops fell on the uncaring steel beneath, the perfectly round spots vivid and unperturbed as the small girl remained in her frozen like stillness.

Behind the door, the music slowed to a whispering crawl, the voice returning to its longing call. As it did so, another sound, one of a completely different nature, made itself heard in the quietness as it grew louder and louder. It was hurried but constant, with the simplest of beats and with the dullest of rhythms - the sound of footsteps fast approaching.

Glassy eyes shot open and the girl turned them straight to the cause of the noise. A tall figure had turned around the corner at the end of the hallway, moving with haste as it neared the bench where she sat.


The End

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