Such a delicate man, who would ever guess, what danger lay beneath the fragile appearance.
In the growing dark, he stood beneath the flowery canopy of the ancient tree and played a soft, mourning tone on his violin. Lids shut, his dual-shaded eyes were hidden from the world, instead his dainty lashes brushed pale cheeks, the expertly drawn line of kohl still ready to attract the gaze of any watchers that may pass.
In the gathering shadows, only the sound of his instrument and the faded white of his too-large shirt stopped him from disappearing entirely; so slow and steady the hypnotic sway of his body to the song, the push and pull of his arm and the bow blended perfectly.
In the moment, in his mind, the world had fallen away. Only his song remained. And the soft jingle of the earring chain when a falling petal brushed his ear and made it twitch. One of those petals that littered his hair, his shoulders, the ground around him and the open case at his feet. Petals like the one caught, precariously fluttering, pinched between his pale neck and the heavy black collar he wore.