Foundation of a Soul.
It was the first time she’d ever seen a harp. A teenaged Edwin had just come back from a voyage and had been able to somehow get the glorious instrument for her, bringing it upon the ship he was sailing on at the time. At only five years old, the young Petra marveled at its beauty and the intricate details along its crafted column. Small, chubby fingers would pluck along the strings as she laughed, creating a few glorious notes as she beamed a wide, toothy grin to her elder brother in awe.
Edwin would beam back, scooping the small Petra up in his arms and telling her the tale of the Kaldorei woman he’d bought it from and how she had no child to pass it on to. He’d saved all his hard-earned coin in order to bring this angelic instrument home to his baby sister. His only full-blooded sibling. Had it not been for Edwin’s lifestyle, he and Petra would have been far away from the brothel. But he’d known with Susan and the others, it was where she was safest. And so he wanted to leave Petra something to focus on, to utilize when she needed time to recover her thoughts and clear her mind.
As the years went on, Edwin came and went as the voyages got longer and spaced farther apart. He’d always made sure Petra was protected. Well cared for. They always got into trouble and had a jovial time when he returned, however. But as Petra grew, so too, did her love for her harp and for the memories it brought with it whenever she touched the wooden beams or slid her fingers along the coarse strings. Over time she had become so proficient with the instrument that it was like a second part of her soul that had always been there, it had just needed a little help to surface to make itself known.
Music would often flow through the manor, indicating Petra was taking time for herself within the seclusions of her room. Her family would learn as time passed that this is where she escaped when feeling overwhelmed, out of sorts, or just needing respite to free her soul. The glorious sounds were perfection. They were sultry. They were story. They were life. They were death. Each note that passed through her fingers and erupted from the strings would cause anyone to stop and listen, to take a moment and contemplate, perhaps even losing themselves in the angelic strings.
But now? The manor was silent. The music created by Petra was no longer heard within its halls. A quiet echo of a memory only whispered along the rafters and through the walls. Now, Petra had her own home. Her own life. A love that she’d never deem even remotely possible to obtain. Yet she had a place in time that was built on the foundation of her music. Her talent had brought her Veth, his intrigue in her hobby, in her. It was what made her who she was now. Who she had always wanted to be.
Her harp was the foundation of her soul.
@musingsofamute @edwin-brohncliff and the Gampre family for mentions @susan-gampre @ophelia-gampre @jeremey-barnett @soren-gampre @miagampre @ralleigh-breakridge @minadellanir
What an amazing writer and character, goddamn. <3 I’m so sorry for not being able to produce stuff like this for our pair, but I sure do love reading things like this when I can. Keep being you!
