#classical lofi

waltzing with a ghost

the landlady had mentioned that the house was haunted. you’d thought she’d been making a joke, in the way of odd old unmarried women. of course you did not believe her then, and you are likewise unsure that you believe her now, in large part simply because you don’t fully believe your own senses. there is a woman sitting at your piano, playing the most lovely melody—one you’re sure you’d never heard before in your life—and yes, you’ll grant that she is quite translucent. but still. this must surely be a dream. you recall toiling away as ever at your latest composition, and you must suppose that you had collapsed from exhaustion at the keys, as you do most nights of the week. you do not recall, however, the means by which you arrived here, in your bed across the room, at the perfect vantage to observe your spectral guest. she is quite lovely, and a masterful pianist. you think that perhaps if this is a dream, why should you not enjoy yourself? approaching the ghostly form, you describe a low bow and extend your hand to her in invitation. raising your eyes to gauge her reaction, you notice the tilt of her chin, a slight pull at the corner of her mouth. and then she seems to step out of herself, to duplicate. she is still sitting, playing the beautiful music, but she is also standing, placing her hand in yours as you lead her in a waltz.

walking home on a winter morning after dancing all night with a mysterious stranger | waltz loop 1hr

the rising winter sun shines clear and bright, casting the city in gold. you take this as an auspicious start to a new year. it feels like abundance. it feels like hope. tucking your chin into your scarf, you can’t help but smile, giddy, as you recall the night you just had. 

dressed in sparkling midnight blue—the fanciest thing you have ever worn, by far—you almost looked like you belonged in the swanky hotel ballroom, at the fancy party your brilliant, rich friend had dolled you up for. honestly, you almost felt like you belonged. the people there were so nice, when they thought that you were one of them. especially…

you tug at the loop of your scarf, suddenly a little too hot, even in the cold morning air, at the memory of that sharp tuxedo, the large, warm hand at your waist when you danced. 

yes, you decide. an auspicious start to a new year.

attending a christmas concert put on by the emperor's mistress | carol loop 4hrs

the empress has been so long apart from society, and the emperor’s mistress so long a staple within it, that aligning yourself with his mistress by way of your attendance at this concert is no cause for scandal. at least, that’s what your escort has assured. you are still so new to the court and its ways, still only a very few months removed from your provincial home, that you have not yet found the confidence to move among these sophisticates as one of their own.

and yet your presence here still fills you with some sense of unease. your mother had been a member of the empress’s court when first she arrived in the kingdom. she had always spoken to you of the empress with respect and even fondness. you had been looking forward to meeting her. but when you arrived you were told that she had not left her wing of the castle in many years. that, indeed, no one had seen her in all that time.

the way people talk about her, when you’ve asked, has made you wonder. how? how could no one at court have seen her in years? no ladies in waiting, none of the staff? if she is, as you suspect, fled or worse, what could possibly be gained by the insistence that she remains?

the emperor’s mistress greets you warmly before you take your seats for the concert.