Anelle woke up with a start. The image of that beautiful throne room filled with dead corpses burned into her mind’s eye. Tears streamed down her face. She had known none of them but the emotions of the memory mingled with her own. The pain of loss stuck hard. The memory of her own family lying dead carving a new wound upon her chest. The feeling of anger and betrayal lingered.

  The smell stuck the longest. She swallowed down bile threatening to rise. She had stood over two men as they burned. Flesh peeling from their bodies and she had smiled. A carnal joy had enveloped her. A power. Anelle’s hands shook at the thought. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Her lips wobbled and she pressed them together, holding herself together. Fear of what she could become began to climb up her spine.

  She forced her eyes open, to look and see. The small room brought her comfort. She took another deep breath and got out of bed, hoping the day would bring a welcomed distraction.

  From the stairs Anelle could hear that the morning meal was in full swing. Emera’s familiar footsteps came from the kitchen as she juggled the cooking. Tiione was filling in for Anelle’s slow morning, running back and forth from the kitchen and the table. Klin and Kae were deep in conversation at the table.

  “Doimkea, Anelle.” Tiione said as he rushed past her, his arms laden with a stack of plates.

  “Doimkea, everyone.” She replied, her voice quiet as she addressed the room. She slipped into her seat, mustering up the best smile she could. The images and residual feelings of her night clung to her.

  “Did you sleep alright, Anelle?” Kea asked, his brows creased with concern.

  She nodded in response and turned away. She had tried her best to clean up her face before coming down but her eyes were a little puffy.

  Emera carried over a steaming pot and began serving the sweet stew. Anelle stared at her bowl, the smell of burning flesh rising anew. She took a small spoonful and raised it to her lips.

  She dropped her spoon and ran towards the back of the house. Bile rising in her throat. She knelt before the privy and brought up last night’s dinner. The awful taste of burnt flesh stuck to her mouth. She retched until her stomach was empty. She sat shaking, crouched on the floor, breathing heavily.

  Soft footsteps approached from behind her. Emera sat down next to her and held a cup of water to her lips. Anelle drank small sips, washing away the burnt taste. Emera raised her hand to Anelle’s forehead for a moment before shaking her head. She moved her hand to Anelle’s back, rubbing in smooth comforting circles.

  The two women sat there in silence.

  Anelle looked up into her face. She wondered at the kindness of this woman. She had felt more love and care from a stranger in the last month than years with her own family. Guilt boiled in her stomach at the thought. How could she allow a stranger to replace her own mother? Her mother’s image was fading as the years passed. Anelle longed to hear her voice again and go back to a time when she had been whole and happy.

  Anelle wept, Emera pulled her against her chest, running her fingers through her hair.

  Her doubts and thoughts came crashing down on her. Why had she lived instead of them? What were these vivid dreams that haunted her? Did she deserve this happy family?

  Emera held her as she wept. Anelle was exhausted. She sat in Emera’s arms feeling like a child again. Emera gently lifted her to her feet and guided her up the stairs. She tucked Anelle into bed, holding her hand till her eyes closed.

  The winter sun hung low in the sky. The wind blew against the window, shaking the glass. Anelle dragged herself out of bed. This morning’s events played through her mind. She winced in embarrassment.

  For the second time that day she made her way downstairs.

  Anelle listened at the top of the stairs. The house was quiet. She made her way down and stopped in front of the table. Her days had always been filled with helping Emera. It was the first time since coming here she had been on her own. In Garlon she had spent most of her time alone, reading or walking the grounds. But she had no books now, nor did she fancy braving the wicked winds outside.

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  Her eyes drifted across the room. It was simple and small, her old bedroom was bigger than the kitchen and living room combined. But she felt more warmth and comfort here then she had in that large empty house.

  The cabinet in the corner caught her eye. Anelle smiled at her own foolish surprise when Klin unveiled the keys of the piano. She took a seat and gently lifted the lid. She ran her fingers along the keys, not pressing any of the notes. Finding the middle C, she pressed it. The note filled the silence, ringing out until it was gone. She straightened her shoulders and placed her hands on the keys, ready to play. Her eyes were straight ahead.

  Countless hours spent sitting and playing pieces of music picked by others. Now she could play whatever she wanted but came up empty. She searched her memory of the many famous composers and the works she had learned. Only one came to mind, Marckoze ‘marionette’ sonata. She placed her fingers in the starting position, practised a cord and waited for silence again.

  She played. Her fingers moving fluidly over the keys. The pianoforte sang under her instruction. A smile lit up her face, her fingers pressed the keys. The notes blended into a symphony. The lonely marionette watched the world go by in its pristine cage. The cage being opened setting her free to dance along the streets in the moonlight. The tempo picked up to reflect the marinette’s joy.

  The hours spent learning to move her fingers in just the right way, the timing, the sound. The verse she always got wrong slowly approached. The faint memory of pain from her instructor’s ruler coming down on her knuckles. She forged on, playing each chord with a new vigor. There it was. Right in front of her mind’s eye. The cords she always messed up. She moved her right hand up an octave stretching her fingers to the keys and found the chord. Then the next. She moved her hand back just in time for her favourite movement. Her smile widened, sparkling in her eyes, a laugh escaped her lips. The marinette’s first taste of freedom as she danced to her own will under the moonlight. Anelle played on. Joy ran rampant through her veins. Her body moved with the sound. All her energy surged through her fingers and into the keys.

  Until the final section slowed, the marionette climbed back into her box and stood still again. The final note rang out into the room.

  She breathed fast, gulping down air. Energy thrummed through her body. She had dearly missed playing more than she was willing to admit.

  Soft clapping sounded behind her.

  Anelle swirled in her seat. Klin stood by the fireplace, leaning against the wall.

  “You play very well.” He said, walking over to her. He perched on the edge of the stool beside her. She moved over to make room.

  She cocked her head to the side with a confused look crossed her face, “well?” She asked.

  “Ah, good, you play good.”

  “Thank you.” Her face brightened with a smile, she looked down at the keys.

  “Do you know any other pieces?” He motioned towards the keys.

  She nodded in response and placed her hands ready. A slower piece but just as dramatic. Long drawn out notes rang through the room. The sound rising and falling in deep sweeping motions. Klin placed his left hand on the piano and played a deep note in time with her. Anelle paused, looking up at him.

  “Go on.” He responds, nodding towards the keys.

  She continues playing. He added additional notes, keeping in time, always adding to the melody. She took the lead, the music a beautiful lullaby, made richer with depth. He tapered off, sensing the end, allowing her to finish the piece solo.

  “Very good,” he said, “now let’s make our own music. Play something.”

  Anelle played the same rhythm as the previous piece. Klin responded with his own, livening up the tempo. He stopped and nodded for her to continue. She started to relax and continued on the back and forth, keeping the tempo on pace with his. He started from the beginning, adding on new chords with a playful rhythm. Anelle picked up where he left off, changing the tempo.

  An infectious smile peaked at the edge of their lips.

  Klin responded in kind, taking back the tempo. Her smile grew, as she grew in confidence, wanting to surprise him. He played his verse, longer now than before. Anelle moved her left hand down an octave and mirrored his last chord. He looked at her sidelong.

  All semblance of rules went out the window. They played together. She moved her left hand down another octave; leaving him with only two octaves to play on. He sped up the tempo. Edging his fingers to the right, towards hers. She refused to budge. He moved his fingers over hers playing the same notes. She let out a small cry, followed by a laugh. The notes were dull from being pressed twice. He let out a laugh but continued playing. Anelle regained her control of the keys as she added another section to the song.

  Klin reached around her back with his right hand and started playing on the other side of her. She laughed, blinking back tears. They played on. The music continually changed; a fast bouncing tempo flowing into a smooth slower one. Slowing to an end as they struggled for breath. The final chords rang out. They sat there a moment catching their breath as wisps of laughter escaped their lips.