Congratulations again and again XD You're a star! If it would be alright, may I request Mozart + Red Tulip, please?
A/N: Part of my 500 Follower Celebration🎉
A red blanket spread across bright green grass under a cornflower blue sky. Bold colors, bright colors. You look at the man you love as he lies on his side, his head of silver hair almost luminous in the sunlight. A man of understated pale blue and silver and white and gray, a sharp contrast to the world around you. Sometimes you wonder if he is truly here, his spectral beauty almost too much for this plane of existence. Your hand travels to your neck at the thought, fingers touching skin that is still tender from earlier that morning and the love-mark of his fangs. It reassures you. He is here. And real. And yours.
He is currently propped up on one elbow, absently toying with a few grapes. You can tell by the way his violet eyes aren’t focused that he isn’t really here. His body may be present but his mind is wandering in its own dream-space, lost in music only he can hear, building symphonies and concertos while you mundanely decide which jelly to put on your croissant.
You know his heart well enough to leave him to his dreaming, leaning back on your palms and enjoying the view over the rolling green hills dotted with over-exuberant daisies. Your attention is pulled away from the idyllic scene by something small and blue bobbing its way toward you. A large butterfly with cobalt wings edged in black is fluttering toward your picnic. You hold your breath as it lands, first on the wicker handle of your basket and then it flaps its way in a lazy zig-zag to land right on your bent knee. Squashing the impulse to gasp, you remain very still as the butterfly takes its respite, gossamer wings slowly folding and unfolding on a loop, a ballerina stretching before her next dance. Up close, you can see the tiny, delicate black veins that run through the shocking blue of its wings. A living jewel right in front of you. The wings open and close one more time and then without warning it takes off, fluttering away as unexpectedly as it came.
You can’t help it. Delight and excitement finally are allowed to escape as you burst into elated laughter. Mozart snaps to attention, as if he had heard a gunshot and not an expression of joy. He blinks his amethyst eyes, staring at you.
“Wolf, did you see it? Did you see the beautiful butterfly that just landed on me? Just like that!” You are still laughing, talking excitedly as you scan the green fields around you for any sign of your tiny visitor. Mozart slowly pushes himself up, the only sign of what he is thinking is the corner of his mouth, lifted in an unreadable, Mona Lisa smile.
The concert hall is buzzing like a hive full of bees. You smooth your hands over the deep ochre velvet of your skirt, the familiar excitement of attending a Mozart concert running through you as well. The gleaming white beast of a grand piano is already spotlit and awaiting the man who will bring it to life, whose fingers will breathe air into its lungs and start a heart beating in its chest. Next to you, le Comte is a vision of calm as he takes in the stage, the lights, the sounds of the patrons. He glances at you and offers a smile.
“You said he wrote this piece in a few hours?”
You nod. “We were having a picnic on the hill and then he just got up and said he needed to go, immediately.”
Comte turns his golden gaze back to the stage, affection in his smile. “That’s Mozart.”
You’re about to agree when the lights finally go down and your heart leaps up, somersaulting in your chest as you see the refined, slender figure of the man you love more than anything enter the stage. The applause swells like a cresting wave until he holds up his hand, Neptune calming the seas with a gesture.
“This piece is called “Das Glück der Schmetterlinge.” He makes an elegant turn on his heel, walking toward the grand piano. The audience holds its breath in anticipation.
You lean closer to Comte a moment, eyes still glued to Mozart as he seats himself on the shiny piano bench.
“I know that ‘Schmetterling’ is butterfly. Did you understand the rest?”
Comte tilts his head towards you. “My German isn’t perfect but I do believe it translates to ‘The Joy of Butterflies’.”
Warmth blooms in your chest as you lean back in your chair. Ah, so he did notice the butterfly that day.
Mozart raises his hands, elegant fingers poised over the black and white keys and then pauses, turning his head to face the audience one more time.
“I dedicate this piece to the most beautiful sound in the world.”
Murmuring ripples through the audience. What sound could the master of music think is the most beautiful thing in the world?
He closes his eyes and his hands begin moving, spinning magic from the first note on. His music always moves you, always reaches inside and wraps itself around your heart. But here….there was something here, something familiar. A repetition of notes that carries the entire song. Something about it tickles the back of your mind, a notion nebulous and cloudy but refusing to dissipate. It is only when you see le Comte smiling that you realize he has unlocked the secret. Again you lean close.
“It’s a beautiful piece,” you whisper, “but why does it feel so familiar? Mozart isn’t playing any of the songs he has written in the past.”
Comte waits a moment, the same series of notes ringing through the concert hall like beacons of sparkling light, enchanting the audience, before he turns his head, his mouth close to your ear.
“Mon chéri,” he says gently, voice brimming with warm amusement, “Do you not recognize the music of your own laughter?”
Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial@alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome