The Highway Man open

It had been surprisingly quiet for a Sunday. Everyone seemed to be off with their friends, getting in some last minute homework, practicing for upcoming tests, or simply enjoying their last day free before another week of school was to begin. Yet, once again Illowy had chosen to seclude herself, this time in the rehearsal room.

For the first time since the Blossom Ball, she was finally able to get the bandages off from her burns, hands and arms no longer in quite in pain. She wanted to celebrate the healing with her violin, no longer handing to worry about the movements irritating her wounds or loosening her dressings. To the young Slytherin, it was as though someone had granted her permission to see her best friend again.

Though she had decided she didn't feel up to dancing still, the girl remained in a simple pair of jeans and a pair of flats she was sure wouldn't scuff up the dance floor. Carefully the girl tugged off her sweater, a worn t-shirt underneath. It hadn't been since that night that the girl had seen her arms perfectly naked. She stared at her hands and arms, turning them this way and that to examine the bright scars, some of which climbed past her elbows. That was to be the state of them permanently, with hopes that over time they might lighten up. Flexing her fingers for a moment, she turned to attention away to pick up her instrument, and strode to the center of the room.

Taking the position, the girl mentally decided on a song. The story was old and well known, that her grandmother use to tell her. However, the melody was new, having learned it the previous year after finding it. Her grandmother learned the song with her and would sing as she played... but the old woman wasn't here today. She could improvise.

Illowy never concidered herself a singer, but she knew she could at least stay on key. Gently, the bow graced the strings as she began:

"The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door."

It wasn't as easy to play and sing at the same time, but not impossible; simply something she hadn't practiced in a long time.

While she had intended not to dance while she played, she couldn't help a step here, a twirl there, as she went long with the music. Easily, the bow sang in time with her own soft voice. Only when the song would go into only instrumental did she allow herself to become slightly more intricate with her simple dance.

"Tlot in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shot her in the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death."


Perhaps a bit sad of a song to be reciting; speaking of true love, loss and violent death, but the calming melody seemed to nearly lift her out of the worser disposition she'd been in since the night of the ball. It was like listening to a sad song when you're sad, or a love song when you were in love. The human mind needed things to connect to when one feels a certain way.

Slowly, somberly, the song came to an end. The bow fell from attention and she tenderly laced it between the fingers that held her violin, looking back over scarred hands. Her fingertip were sore, the callouses not at strong as they once had been since she'd not practiced in weeks. It was only in that examination as she started back towards the chairs her case was sitting on, that she realized someone standing by the door. How long had they been there? That song was nearly ten minutes long, not including the flourishes she'd improved here and there; how long had they been watching. The girl had frozen in place, face flushing bright red as though she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been.