#chopinesque

“It vexes me. I am extremely vexed.” ooh from sadie? i feel .. there is Potential :~)

 ❛  Please, Ms. Doyle.  ❜   Jonathan gently called, trying to deviate Sadie Doyle’s attention away from the kitchen’s pantries and back to him. The dinner party they had both been roped into had taken an unexpected turn: The lights had all suffered the same sudden death at the same sudden time and, all of the other guests, had simply vanished into thin air. Jonathan could swear he had heard their host’s chuckle coming from within the walls before the strange happening. And the more Ms. Doyle and he ventured through the mansion, the more Jonathan came to accept that they wouldn’t be having any deserts. Sadie appeared to be comfortable navigating through the darkness but, poor Mr. Harker could not help but to constantly look over his shoulder. Perhaps because he recognised the cold shiver which had touched his spine. Once upon a time he had ignored it.  People had died because of his mistake.   ❛  It is clear that our host has no taste for cocktails or winery.  ❜   He whispered, careful not to sound overly alarmed. 

          There was a sudden thud somewhere above their heads. It was hard to tell whether it was distant thunder or a few loose tiles. But, deep down, Harker knew there was a third option; that someone  ( or something )  was currently lurking up on the roof. ──  Like a horrible bird of prey, trying to spot its’ next meal hidden in the grass. ──  His eyes were glued to the kitchen’s ceiling, but his hand remained outstretched towards the other party guest. There was a raspiness to his voice now that made it undeniable: Jonathan Harker was scared.     ❛  His thirst is of a much crueler kind, I’m afraid.  ❜  

i’m  at  a  recital.  this  is  public  speaking.  there’s  crowds  of  eyes  watching  me  and  the  practised  speech  needs  to  run  its  course.  i  like  that  more  than  having  to  come  up  with  something  on  the  spot.  in  my  mother’s  voice,  i  say,   ‘ politeness is the cornerstone of being. ’   i  don’t  mean  it.  

                                i’m  not  at  a  recital.  there  is  maybe  one  pair  of  eyes  on  me.  this  is  called  a  conversation.  this  girl  is  called  alice  and  canned  responses  don’t  bode  well  because  i  can  never  expand  on  them.  my  straight  face  falls,  i  smile  and  it’s  out  of  nervousness.  it’s  polite.    ‘ or something  . . .  you don’t have to be polite. ’

Thomas D. A. Tellefsen (1823-1874) - Piano Sonata in C minor, Op.13

0:04 I. Allegro moderato 7:26 II. Adagio 13:49 III. Vivace