I exhale slowly, much of the tension leaving me as soon as I feel the coolness of the keys beneath my fingers. Because this, in so many ways, is…home.
God, why have I waited so long? Why haven’t I been playing in my room?
Because the boy is there, my wolf says, and you like to keep it a secret. She trots back and forth in my soul, her tail raised high as it always is when I get ready to play. She, too, loves the music.
I smirk a little. He’s not just any boy, he’s our Anton, I murmur to her, taking a deep breath and straightening my back, my shoulders setting into the muscle memory of our pianist’s stance.
Yes, she sighs, happy. We can play just for him sometime. Maybe.
Maybe, I agree, shrugging a little. But then I close my eyes, not letting myself look to the right where hundreds
