☤✈
Memory Meme
Past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories.
☤ - a memory of death/loss || ✈ - an eye-opening memory
I’m going to do ✈ first because it also leads to the ☤ one, though the both of them are somewhat set in their own POV. Warning, really REALLY long reading ahead since I did a drabble for both. And…this can be an HC put into more…words and added of more details…if that makes any sense…?
✈ - an eye-opening memory
It had been like a dream, one filled with a bright atmosphere as if a dark veil had been lifted from his world. Not only the atmosphere, but there was a sweet melody playing to brush away the silence that once surrounded him indefinitely, the soft notes that sounded so grand on their own.
And it was all brought to him by a single man.
Where to start?
It was during a soirée on a chilly winter night, yet bright laughter filled the air along with many chattering guests of all sorts. Many people walked to and fro from the music hall, lounging about outside or inside or simple scattered around the massive grounds belonging to the property. Everyone was in good spirits, that was clear to see, and it was all due to the presence of a single man who was a great composer of that generation. Music admired by the majority, and even admired by royalty. There was no end to the adoration to this man’s music, and he most certainly didn’t seem to be ceasing productions anytime soon. The chattering among the guests were mainly based on conversing about this said composer and revered with great respect.
A young boy dressed in the fine silks of an artisocrat’s son walked alone across the grounds to the music hall. The heels upon his boots clicked sharply against the ground, the rhythm to ever single step in check and consecutive with the one before and after. His coattails swayed behind him, undeterred by the strong breeze that blew by now and then. A hat decorated with feathers and lined with gold-spun threads sat upon his head, where hair coloured a most shocking way to a considerable length grew. Many people turned to gaze at him from both how young he looked to be alone and how odd his hair seemed out of place. His long hair layered into two were dual braided to precisely separate the contradicting tones of his hair - one side a dark, rich violet of red while the other was a pure, mesmerizing white. Eyes that were shining ceruleans and petite lips that parted slightly to reveal rows of perfect, pearlescant molars, many of the women around who took notice of him chuckled to their man and commented on how much of a ‘doll’ he looked like.
He perfectly heard every single word exchanged about him, all the small titters and teases said behind gloved hands and turned heads. Yet even so, he remained ignorant of them and paid them no heed as he continued walking until he was within the music hall itself.
Inside the interior was brightly lit and well furnished, in which many people occupied in large groups or couples. Looking this way and that, he could see that there was still time before the actual performance started - the entire reason for why the soirée had been hosted. In the halls, elegant tables were set up and had mounds of delicacies of all sorts piled on top, offered to all. He ignored all of these, only interested on attending the performance solely before leaving quickly afterwards. There had been many rumours about this man, and only just recently did he felt inspired enough to seek out a session himself. Mainly, this was due to a recent loss of another great composer, one whose music he had greatly admired, and now with him gone he desired to search for a new ‘replacement’.
Just as he turned to see if he can find his way in into the grand room where the performance would be held at, a considerable amount of people - probably a group together - had approached him. The women spoke to him in soft, kindly tones, cooing over him and speaking sweetly. The men patted him on the back occasionally as they made good conversation, all of them questioning why Lest at such a young age had come here unaccompanied by his ‘papa’. Just by the looks of his clothing, they considered him to be the son of a rather highly-ranked family of nobility, but which? There were many.
He tried to brush them aside in an indifferent manner, not trying to seem rude or arrogant yet all the same showing his disinterest in conversing. Apparently adults were possessed a thick skull and dull mind when it came to children’s demands as they continued to talk to him. One of the women leaned down to pull slightly at his cheeks in a teasing manner, remarking how ‘beautiful’ his teeth were and how mesmerizing his eyes were. Another came at that moment holding a small plate with a slice of cake upon it, offering it to him. Just as quickly when it came to this, he drew back sharply. For the smallest second, his eyes had flashed another entirely different colour before reverting back to blue. His teeth had seemed somewhat eloganated as well before it returned to normal.
Excusing himself saying that he needed to find the loo, he was able to get away quickly from the group, chatters of laughter but also sighs of disappoint in having ‘lost the little doll’ was heard. Really, if it weren’t for eons of practice, he would’ve lost his temper and smacked the lot of them right then and there.
He continued to wander freely on his own, quickly evading any attempts made by anyone to talk to him. In his rush in trying to avoid people, he hadn’t realized how much time had passed when he noticed people starting to gather back at the music hall, all moving in one direction. Taking this as a cue for the performance to start, he quickly joined the quickly-moving crowd, soon entering the grand room where the performance was to be held at.
Inside, rows and rows of seat were bordering one another, taking up the majority of the room to seat the numerous guests. Lest fortunately managed to somehow push his way to the front row nearest to the stage, only being seated at the center so he had the perfect view. Everyone around him was chattering loudly, daughters and sons having been brought along by their parents surrounded him in his area. They all screamed and shouted to one another, a few of them taking notice of Lest and trying to get him involved to. He paid them little mind and kept his gaze focused on the stage. Nothing mattered at the moment besides the beginning of the performance that was to come.
He could already see that onstage, many of the performers were all getting assembled. They categorized themselves and sectioned each other off by what instrument they played; the violins to one side, cello players opposite, violas to the back and double bass at their sides. A single grand piano was placed in the center, right at the foot of the stand where the composer would stand to conduct the entire display. It was most definitely an impressive sight.
Not realizing how long he had spent gazing at the performers getting ready, by now the throng of people entering the room had eased up considerably, only a handful of last minute guests coming in to take the last remaining seats on the second floor. In the span of a few minutes, everyone had been seated and chatter was slowly dying down, the performers by now had all be assembled except for the pianist who was nowhere to be seen - along with the composer.
However in the next moment, once the entire room was only a low hum of hushed voices speaking, there was a sudden round of applause as two people came walking onstage. One followed the other who seemed to be in the lead. They both turned to face the audience when they stepped to the center of the stage, bowing to the audience once before turning away. There was another loud round of applause. The one that followed seated himself down upon the bench to the piano, the other taking his rightful place up upon the stand.
Lest barely heard the announcement they made next to tell the audience who they were and the piece they were to play. However, the only thing that he did hear quite clearly was, ‘Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’.
The next moment, the composer - Mozart - raised both his hands while facing the crowd of performers. They readied their instruments, eyes on the sheet of music set before them as they awaited for the command to start. A few moments of silence passed, a single cough heard from somewhere in the audience…then, the composer brought his hands down in a swaying motion, and thus the performance started on a loud note.
What Lest witnessed next was the simple brilliance of this composer, the raw power of his youth honed to that of a professional force of strength. All that would be wild was rounded up and condensed in a most beautiful structure of elegant, classical music. The rhythm was on course, the tempo precise and every single note in sync with one another, never too early or too late by even a millesecond. Also, the way how smoothly he conducted the performance with powerful and firm waves of his hands that never failed to be in tune with the music, as if his very movements weaved the brilliant tapestry of music that only the rarest and best of masters could rear and produce for all ears to hear. The composer turned his face slightly, and Lest was surprised to see a look of joy and happiness on his face just by the small smile he held. Instead of a serious, stony look he had accepted from most composers, this young man possessed admirable vigour in performing and conducting, his movements seemingly young, naive, and carefree but was rather careful, precise, and simple perfect.
It was all too soon before the two hours of promised music to be played was over. It was only by the loud round of applause heard the Lest snap out of his daze to realize that already this performance had come to an end. Many people called out to Mozart, shouting compliments and praises out loud, admiration thrown at the man from all sides. Lest stayed seated, though his gaze was firmly trained on the man, determination in his eyes.
Now, he had only one goal in mind: He would meet with this man in person. He would personally introduce himself to Mozart and hopefully be able to engage with him in a conversation to exchange their passion for music. For now, his views would be largely based around the previous composer he had admired and had passed on…but hopefully, this Mozart could bring a new light into his life of passion for classical music.
Slowly, he stood up to gaze at the display before him. Mozart standing on the stand but turned to face the audience proudly, the performers staying seated behind him with instruments held at rest and looking professional. The pianist standing up next to his bench stiffly but with a gracious smile upon his face. All bright lights in the room directly soley at them upon stage, a glistening atmosphere full of life and ambition. A sight he would never forget.
When the grand room had been cleared out with the performance over, many guests still stayed to attend to the soirée itself - also it was said that Mozart the brilliant composer himself would be able to attend himself rather instead of heading home to rest.
When learning this interesting piece of news, Lest had decided to too stay, even though he had told himself before he even arrived at the music hall that he’d leave as soon as the performance was over. He was still filled with determination to meet this man and to personally speak with him and get acquainted. He had to thank him for the sight he showed him tonight, and it wouldn’t have so strong an affect if done later than now.
Lost in his thoughts, he had wandered about the music hall once more, rather forgetting to actually go find Mozart himself, a considerable amount of time having passed. No doubt Mozart was long out by now and was probably somewhere nearby socializing. Coming to the back of the music hall where a lavish garden of massive size occupied the space, he trailed away from the music hall to walk across the grounds. There were still quite a few people milling about even out here, though they were mainly couples walking around to enjoy the pleasant evening together or mischevious children whose parents were occupied in socializing ran about.
As he looked up briefly to see where he should go or what he should do next to find Mozart, the full bloom of a pristine, white rose caught his eye from afar. There were rose bushes lining a few tall hedges that blocked a certain area of the grounds from most eyes. How odd it seemed, he wondered what was hidden behind those hedges?
He had only taken a single step in the direction of the white rose when he heard it: Soft strains of piano music being played - and by someone brilliant no less. He perked up at this, wondering if there was another genius here attending another master’s performance for inspiration, admiration, or just felt obligated to do so. No matter now, he quickly strode towards the white rose, walking past the tall hedges and turning into the hidden place behind.
First thing he saw and pondered upon was why was there a grand piano set all the way out here? There was a gazebo actually behind the tall hedges, a sizeable pond next to it. The piano was in the center of the gazebo, whereas the pianist themselves were hidden from his view. Curious as to who the sweet melody belonged to, Lest slowly walked around the set instrument to see.
He immediately came to a standstill, eyes wide with mouth slightly agape. His hands hung loosely at his side as he gaze at the pianist before him, who continued to play though having noticed his presence. It wasn’t until Lest hadn’t moved for a few moments longer, just standing there out of shock and surprise but also to listen to the tune being played did the pianist cease their production.
A small amused smile graced the other’s lips as they gazed straight back at Lest, a hand waving at him to come forth. When he didn’t move - out of defiance at being called like a dog and simply because he was still too stunned to move - the pianist then stood up from the stone bench of the piano.
Standing next to the piano, the pianist brushed their clothing free of dirt and dust that must’ve gathered on the bench - or simply doing it just out of habit. Approaching Lest, the pianist - a young man - kneeled down slightly to face him as a humble gesture, the smile still on his face.
“And who might you be, lad? It looks like you seem rather entranced by the music of the piano, aren’t you? I wouldn’t blame you, it’s a most beautiful tune produced when played, don’t you think?” He gave a soft chuckle, a twinkle in his eye, “Ah, forgive me if I haven’t introduced myself.”
Standing up and backing up a few steps, he bowed to Lest in a playful manner, “Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart or most well known as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart at your leisure, lad.” As soon as he had finished introducing himself, he returned to his seat upon the bench of the piano, slender fingers lain upon the keys as he started to play a small melody though he focused his attention still on Lest.
“Now, what might be your name, my boy?”
“…It’s Lest Karr, and it’s certainly a pleasure and honour to meet you, Amadeus.”
It had been like a dream, one filled with a bright atmosphere as if a dark veil had been lifted from his world. Not only the atmosphere, but there was a sweet melody playing to brush away the silence that once surrounded him indefinitely, the soft notes that sounded so grand on their own.
And it was all brought to him by a single man.
☤ - a memory of death/loss
“His health is detoriating quickly, it seems they’ve decided his final moments would be at twilight when the moon is high in the sky.”
“Is that so? What a shame, quite a brilliant man really. It’s unfortunate how most of the bright ones go away so soon. Perhaps this world is too little for great minds like his - hopefully he moves on to a better life.”
People rambled among one another on the busy streets of the Czech Republic, gentleman born high or low gossiping with their woman about the illness of a certain, great composer admired by many. So young at such an age and Death already loomed over his head. It was only a matter of time before he passed on to the netherworld.
A young lad looking no older than the age of 12, dressed in fine silks of an aristocrat, listened closely to these rumours with a stoic expression. After a moment or two longer of listening to the nonstop rambling, he quickly turned away from where he leaned against the wall of a bakery and ducked into an alleyway. He hesitated for a moment, pondering on what decision he should make… Well, just to pay his last respects to an admirable figure of great talent.
The next moment where he stood, he was gone, only a gentle breeze brushing by as if something had quickly left the area with inhumane speed.
Back at a certain building that housed the said man all of Czech Republic was conversing about, the man himself laid in his bed without so much as shifting around. He looked like he already had one foot in the grave, yet even so he seemed determined to work on a transcript of some sort, interrupted by hacking coughs that jolted his entire body. Even so, his hand stayed steady as he scratched his pen against the paper to mark down many things.
The window to his room was open to let in fresh air, an advise from Doctor Closset to keep his health in the best condition it can be. Gazing down at this sheets of paper before him in a determined manner, he barely noticed or gave acknowledgement to a sudden breeze sweeping out of nowhere to blow back the soft curtains that hung in front of the open passage. However, the sounds of light footsteps stepping on the balcony outside caught his attention.
Looking up, he placed down his writing tool, gazing at the open window in a serious manner, “Who goes there?”
There was a moment of silence, then a small chuckle sounding like that of a child’s, “Who else could it be but me, Amadeus?”
The composer’s eyes opened widely before a smile graced his lips, “Is that you, lad? Lest, my boy?” The artistocrat boy from earlier in the alleyway stepped into the bedroom of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, a slightly exasperated look on his face.
“You’re starting to sound like the old folks with that ‘my boy’ speak. I find it terrifying really.” Without hesitation, he came to kneel by the great composer’s side, gazing at the man in a fond manner.
Amadeus laughed with good nature - only for it to be interrupted halfway by a hailstorm of heaving coughs. Not only that, there were patches on his skin that showed previous swelling and irritation, and there was a somewhat musky smell on his breath that indicated bile had passed through it more than once. Lest gave a small frown at this, offering a small pat on his shoulder until the fit was over. The man cleared his throat slightly, a modest smile on his face, “Forgive me for showing you that little scene. I’m afraid my health is in a horrendous state at the moment.”
“It seems so. There’s been rumours going around that you’ll not make it past twilight of today, when the moon is high above us to illuminate the sky.”
He gave another small chuckle, his shoulders moving up and down in a defeated manner, “I can’t blame them, for I too believe that. Doctor Closset has also confirmed it himself that I wouldn’t make it until dawn.”
Lest didn’t have anything to say to counter that, or even to comfort the man. If death was inevitable, then it’s better to accept it rather than deny it with sweet words with thorns of lies. Casually, he turned his attention to the sheets of paper before Mozart, studying the transcript he was producing even on his death bed.
“Ah, your most brilliant piece yet… Requiem, was it?” He reached out with a hand to hover above the piece, never touching it out of respect but close enough to admire it.
“Go on, take it and look at it if you wish. A bright lad like you has proven yourself to me enough, rather I should be honoured a gifted youth admires the work of an old man like me.” Again, Amadeus was modest when confronted alone, even more so when he was on the brink of death.
Lest smirked slightly, shaking his head, “You’re not past the age of 36 yet, Amadeus, you’re no old man.”
“It’s only me speaking, Lest my boy, nothing more. Don’t take it so seriously.”
The two males laughed, one in good spirit and the other with joy from being in the other’s presence. Amadeus was a respectable man, never questioning most and always being kindly with those that considers themselves not worthy to be in his presence. He didn’t even question how Lest had entered his room from on this floor, but he was most certainly glad that he did and that he was no longer alone. Lest was also different from the family doctor or his mother and sister themselves, it was nice to relate and converse with someone else that - in a sense - didn’t have personal ties with him.
“This is a brilliant piece, Amadeus, even if it’s incompleted. I have the greatest desire to hear it played first hand - by its own master.” He brushed his thumb gently over a few lines in a fond manner, a small smile on his lips.
“It can’t be helped, my boy. What Death wants, he’ll come to reap for. We cannot stop absolute authority given unto us by the Heavens themselves. Us mere lambs, baying for the gods’ nurturing, can only wander freely for so long before we return to their realm once more. It’s a worldly cycle that has journeyed through several eons, it cannot be stopped now.”
The child-like figure sighed again, though his smile no longer seemed so pitiful, “Never knew you were once to compose a poem dedicated to the lord.” There was a vague tone of distaste in his voice as he spoke.
Amadeus noticed this, deciding to quickly change the topic as to avoid discomfort between the two of them. Gesturing freely with his hand at the transcript, he then suggested in a soft tone, “Would you perhaps give me the honour of helping me produce my ‘most brilliant piece yet’, as you put it?”
Lest’s eyes widened as he gazed back at the man, the look of disbelief clear on his face, “You’ve to be jesting with me, are you not? Me? Helping you produce a masterpiece like Requiem?” His hands shook slightly, the paper rattling in his shaky grip as he tried to keep himself steady.
The composer laughed, another small shrug given, “Why not? In the past you’ve attended most of my concerts and performances, always coming up to me to thank me. Even during the soirées or other events hosted in my honour, you’ve never failed to attend and be at my side at least once. A dedicated lad like you should deserve such an honour, even being here at my deathbed when no one else cares enough to push past the women downstairs to come up and visit me.”
Still, Lest was flustered to be confronted by such a proposal, uneasy of himself all of a sudden. Yes, the great King of Europe was nervous about his own abilities of co-producing a masterpiece composed by a human.
Seeing how the former wouldn’t really move without motivation, Mozart took his fountain pen from earlier, handing it to Lest with a smile upon his face, “Go on, we can work on this together with the bit of remaining time I have left. Wouldn’t that be grand?”
That snapped Lest out of his stupor, a determined look on his face, “I swear to you by my name, Lest Karr, that for you, Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart the greatWolfgang Amadeus Mozart, I will compose my own piece for your Requiem, and I will not fail to carry out its brilliance with it.”
Mozart gave a slightly surprised look at Lest’s declaration, but soon softened his expression back to his fond smile, “Then by all means, let us begin, shall we?”
What in reality was hours seemed to fly by as only moments for the two as they worked on Requiem together, laughter exchanged between the two commonly as they produced as much of the transcript as they could with so little time. What was mean to be weeks of work was completed in a few hours, though still a considerable amount of work was left in the end. Finally at long last, as the clock struck half an hour before twilight, the two had ceased their production at an ending point - the last that Mozart would ever compose.
Just as Mozart’s mother and sister were calling from downstairs that they’ll be coming up soon to accompany him, along with the family doctor, Doctor Closset. Lest finally decided to take this as his cue to leave, standing up from where he kneeled so long by Mozart’s bed side. Turning to the open window once more, he took a single step in its direction, then paused for a moment as he contemplated a thought. Mozart watched him expectantly as the other paused, hands folded across his lap while Requiem was set aside for now.
Finally, the former took a deep breath and turned around slowly. There was a strange look in his eyes that drove away all tease from Mozart, only a serious atmosphere remained between the two as they both waited for what was to happen next.
“…Amadeus… I… You’ve been…” Lest fumbled to say the right words, “You’ve been a respectable man of great works. There are very few who can rival their skills with your’s - Beethoven being one of them. As…from someone of my rank I would like to…” He gripped his fists tightly together, a frustrated sigh being heard aimed at himself. Why was it so hard to tell the man?
All the time, Mozart said nothing, only gazed at Lest with a humble air as he waited for him to finish saying what he wanted to say.
“No, it should be more along the lines of… As from someone of my rank and kind, I feel the need to personally thank you - though man you may be - that your existence here in this world as entertained me for a while now, and I’m grateful for that. It was truly a blessing to have met you and be acquainted with you.” He bowed his head, turning quickly in that moment to leave.
Mozart suddenly called out to him, though the tone of his voice remained kindly, “Before you leave, my boy, might you clarify to me what you exactly mean by your ‘kind’ and me as a ‘man’? Are you no different?” He smiled, thinking that it was only a sort of wild imagination of a child.
Lest paused at this, one foot already out on Mozart’s balcony. Turning back slowly to face Mozart, the moonlight of the climbing moon filtered through, a single ray reflecting in his cerulean hues…that slowly turned crimson as moments passed. He slowly came walking back to Mozart’s side, a gentle nature about him despite the forbidding look that the crimson orbs gave. The composer - though somewhat unnerved - kept his kind nature and gazed at the boy expectantly. He was about to reveal something to him, something big, and how cruel he was to be on his deathbed to learn of it.
He opened his mouth slightly to say something - and in that moment, Mozart could see eloganated incisors…fangs, glinting in the moonlight. They most definitely hadn’t been there before - and his eyes had been previously blue, why now was his features changing.
“It seems the spell has worn off, just at the time I expected it to be.” Lest chuckled again, though this time it seemed more dark rather than amusement.
Taking one of Mozart’s hand, he brought it up to his lips to breathe over the soft surface. In a low tone, he turned to gaze up at the composer before smirking slightly - fangs poking out - and said, “My name is Lest Karr, Third Progenitor and vampire King of Europe.” He plunged his fangs into the composer’s hand, the latter flinching at the sudden pain of his skin being pierced.
It was only a few seconds or so that passed before Lest withdrew his fangs, blood staining the pearlescant surface but was soon cleansed of by a lick. Mozart’s wrist now had two puncture holes in it, thin trails of blood trickling from the wound. However, instead of screaming or panicking in horror and fear, he only lifted it up closer to his eyes to inspect. By that time, Lest had already quickly turned and walked onto the balcony.
Jumping onto the railing, he prepared to disappear into the night when Mozart suddenly called out once more, “My boy, no matter what you are or who you are, I still acknowledge you as my friend and a brilliant mind for music. Lest Karr, I will never forget you, and I hope you never forget me either. It’s been a wonderful time knowing you and composing Requiem with you. I hope we’re able to meet in yet another lifetime of mine.” At that time Lest didn’t turn around, and in doing so never seeing that last fond look Mozart had on his face, but even so, he took his words into consideration.
“…A legend exchanging respects to another legend. You are a great man, Amadeus. I will be sure to never forget you. Farewell.” And with that, he jumped off the railing and disappeared.
At that moment, the door to his room opened, revealing the presence of the family doctor, his mother and sister, along with his student, Franz Xaver Süssmayr. They were by his side quickly, saying many tearful things and gripping his hand tightly, sobbing into his clothes while still comforting him with many words to come. He turned his attention to their babbling and tried his best to too exchange words of comfort with them, trying to assure them that he’d be fine and Death was nothing to be afraid of. Even so, they still wept themselves a river as he slowly became more and more weaker by the moment.
Just before the clock in his room struck twilight - midnight - he gazed once more out the open window to his bedroom, seeing a shadowy figure of a certain child-like vampire. With a small smile on his lips, he mouthed, Farewell, before ultimately turning closing his eyes, and his entire body growing limp.
Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart the great Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had passed on.
Lest continued to watch the scene for a few moments longer, with those around the man sobbing harder as they came to realize he was no longer responding, though a passive look was upon his face. Lingering for another second, he then finally turned on his heels to face the other direction from where he stood upon the rooftop. To no one in particular, he raised a hand to wave a farewell, then leapt off from the building into the darkness of the night.
