Lazarus Thorn: The Tale of a WerewolfMature

Lazarus Thorn's back ground story. Lazarus features in the stories Death's Symphony, Midnight Melodies and Life's Requiem


Who would have thought it? Who could imagine? The youngest of three born to a pauper, helplessly and madly in love with the son of a lord? Lazarus went to work doing odd jobs for people as a child, growing up on the streets, a typical urchin.

A typical urchin with a love for classical music. His older sister, Annabelle, was learning to play the piano. The family was poor, but when a rich family got rid of their old piano, the Thorn family salvaged it, repaired it and gifted it to their children.

Lazarus sat beside his sister as she learnt, turning the pages of her scores for her as she played.

‘Father?' he asked, turning away from his sister's playing.

‘Yes?' his father turned to him and gave him a tired smile.

‘Could I learn to play the piano, too?' Lazarus asked. The older man's smile widened as he chuckled a little. He looked at his son, a little rascal of only seven years.

‘We'll see. You'd have to teach yourself, you realise. I can't afford lessons. Annabelle managed it though, I'm sure you can.' He laughed as Annabelle turned to give her father an irritable glare. ‘You'll make a formidable wife, someday soon, Anna,' he got up and clapped a hand down on her shoulder. ‘Go help your mother, let Lazarus have a go.' Lazarus beamed up at his father, shoving Annabelle off the stool.

‘Don't shove me you little-' her father cut her off, pointing outside where her mother was washing clothes. She scowled again and left.

‘C'mon then, I'll get you some easier music to read from.' Lazarus' father started rummaging through a box beside the piano, but Lazarus ignored it, looking at the music that Annabelle had been playing.

‘This is fine, father. It doesn't look too hard.' He said, turning back to the beginning. His father looked up and raised an eyebrow.

‘Go on then.' He said, watching as his son put his little fingers on the keys and pushed down with the kind of confidence that only a child can possess. Though his fingers flew over the keys, there were little hesitations, and chords he couldn't reach. He paused and cursed, earning him a clip around the ear from his father.

‘Watch your tongue, boy.' He scolded, but he was impressed. ‘Harder than it looks, eh?' he laughed.

‘My hands aren't big enough.' Lazarus replied, his voice betraying his disappointment in himself.

‘You'll get there, boy. Just wait til you grow a bit more.' His father got up and gestured to the box, ‘Find something else to play. You have promise.' He muttered before leaving him to it.

The End

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