ANONYMOUS PENNED:
While Gustave was a bundle of joy and laughter, openly affectionate, sweet and tender as his mother, his younger sister Ophelia? Well, she didn't have a lot to say for herself.
Even at almost three years old it was clear she could talk, she was advancing quickly, but she was quiet, timid, didn't smile much, serious and stubborn as her father. There were ways she expressed affection though, as her father played the piano in the front room of the farmhouse, she wordlessly clambered onto the stool next to him, and tapped on the highest note with a tiny finger to get his attention. She looked at him with those eyes so similar to his own, that deep pink birthmark on her right cheek. "Hello." She said, just the tiniest of smiles on her face.
AS quiet and reserved as his Ophelia was, Erik and his daughter had a keen way of understanding each other. She was remarkably like him; stoic and fiercely intelligent, even at only three years.
THE tapping of the C8 brings him out the trance he so frequently finds himself in when composing. Erik opens his eyes to see Ophelia perched on the stool beside him, the tiniest of smiles on her face.
" HELLO, " he greets with his own smile. Though he loathes being interrupted, his daughter's presence always fills him with a sense of joy. He picks the girl up by her waist and sets her into his lap, placing a kiss against her mop of wild curls ( her hair is as dark as his once was, but the curls are solely her mother's ). " Did you simply wish to hear me play? " he asks, beginning to idly pluck at the melody he had been composing. " Or did you have a different request? "
