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Category: Writing and Poetry

The Music Box

Delicate music notes floated gracefully through the air before reaching my ears. The pleasant tune they cooperated to convey was lovely, and made all the more magical by the nostalgic device it emanated from. Accenting the saccharine melody that was sweet like candy, a faint whirring from the ever-turning handle droned on in the background unceasingly as I listened. But it didn't irritate me. Rather, it comforted me. Yes... This music box is one of the only memories I have of her. ...It may very well be the only object she left in this world at all. The fragile tune it plays is an abbreviated section of "Kind des Lichts," a lullaby for children that my mother would often sing to me in my youth. She's long gone now, but I still remember those days fondly, young as I was. 

I remember... Back when I was still learning swordplay, arithmetic, and philosophy from my father, my mother would tend to the more creative aspects of my development. She taught me things like storytelling, cooking (though I was never particularly gifted at it), and most dear to me: How to play the piano. After long days of training with my father, the lord of darkness, she would sit with me, and play all of her favorite songs for me, of which "Kind des Lichts," was one of them. Ku... In my juvenile state, I'd pester her repeatedly to let me play... I was simply unable to contain my childlike wonder in the presence of her beautiful playing. Now that I'm older, though... I'm afraid my behavior might have played a part in what happened later. I'm sure she wished for a brief respite from my father, and for time to further her own development. Through that lens, I must have been somewhat of a bother for her, an obstacle. But despite that... She took the time to teach me everything she knew. Her kindness, her devotion to my happiness outweighed her the importance of her own desires, and she patiently guided me through my journey to learn the piano... Krgh... I only wish that I were afforded the opportunity to repay that kindness. At the very least, I would have loved nothing more in the world than to perform a duet with her... So that we may both seek our own happiness together... Alas, such dream is only that - a dream. For it is no longer possible in reality, and as such, it can only be contained within the souls of those who yearn for its existence. Mother... For you, I shall keep on playing, evermore.

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