Perhaps it was the evening, or the rain. Or maybe even the leaking faucet, steadily dripping into the steel sink. Or it was simply the deafening silence that saturated the room. Whatever it was, Edmund stared at his Steinway. He had been avoiding it all week.

He withdrew to his room and sifted through his closet. He picked out his best tailored suit. He wasn’t sure why. But it seemed wrong to play tonight with anything less. He combed his hair meticulously, allowing little streaks of black to fall across his eyes.

On his way back through the kitchen, he picked up a matchbox and continued until he stood at the foot of his grand piano.

He struck a match.

The flame bloomed, small and unsteady.

He held it to the candle resting on his piano. Gold warmth flooded the living room as the rain outside tapped lightly against the windows.

Edmund took a deep breath and sat himself down on the bench.

He clenched his jaw tightly and closed his eyes.

Then, slowly, he let his hands hover above the keys as he straightened his spine.

His fingers curved, poised and ready.

And then Edmund’s fingertips met the cold keys.

The first notes to emerge played as softly as the rain outside. But as his fingers danced across the keys, the melody began to take shape, slowly swelling into something mournful. Candlelight flickered upon his face, casting shadows over his features as he let his head tilt back.

The notes ran through his veins as though they were blood. His shoulders loosened, and with each crescendo, the flame wavered, as if it too could feel the ache beneath his hands.

He played as though he were trying to say something he could not bring himself to speak. His hands flowed with great certainty, yet there was nothing certain about the man behind them. Every note seemed to bring into existence a melancholy he thought he had laid to rest.

His throat caught, his vision blurred and his fingers began to falter.

But he kept playing.

Pressing harder into the keys, as if force alone could keep his emotions at bay.

For a moment, he was somewhere else entirely. Beyond the rain, the candlelight and the hollowness of the walls. The music rang out loudly before he let the melody diminish into quiet.

As the final chord lingered, Edmund opened his eyes and kept his hands above the keys. The warmth had already begun to leave them. The candle beside him had nearly burned to its end, wax gathered along its side and pooling at the base.

He remained still, watching it waltz one more time.

And go out.