Chapter 93
It only took a few words to shatter the peace she’d worked so hard to maintain.
“It’s always beautiful to hear.”
An excommunication from her teacher, the virtuoso Emmanuel.
“Your sound, Birdbom, has always been there for someone else.”
Her violin and her life, existing only for her mom.
“I’ve been wondering: your playing is still great, but somehow I don’t think I’ve ever heard you really play.”
“New Spring, have you ever played for yourself?”
“Only for your own enjoyment?”
Since when.
When she stopped being able to play the violin.
That her life, which she thought was fulfilling enough, felt like a marionette on a distorted stage.
For her.
The Master’s question lingered, weighing heavily on her mind.
What is enjoyment?
What’s in it for her?
Her playing has always been for her mom.
For her, the violin was a means to an end.
To please her mom, to be loved by her mom.
There was no “me” in that.
***
The nightmare always starts the same.
A dimly lit hallway, a stage at the end of it.
She swallowed a shaky breath and walked up to the stage, a grand piano and an unseen accompanist. Beyond, she could see the black silhouettes of countless people.
“The most likely winner…”
“The youngest to break the record…”
“That Emmanuel’s favorite…”
The stage she never finished.
The beginning of her despair.
This was the day she was abandoned by her mother.
Perhaps the last contest,
In the moment when it was just the violin and her, her teacher’s words became gourds.
Her hands wouldn’t move.
She couldn’t play.
Her hands stopped moving, as if she’d forgotten how to do it. Even the instrument felt heavy to lift, and her arms sank.
Everything about that day is still so clear in her mind.
“How could you let me down like this.”
The day her proud, self-aware daughter played like an idiot, couldn’t play anything, and ruined the final competition.
“How could you.”
There were only two words her mom said to her when she felt betrayed.
There was no resentment, no anger, and no disappointment.
She glared at her with a cold stare, didn’t ask for an explanation or a reason, and left her alone.
That was the last thing she remembered of her mom.
Abandoned by her mom.
Funnily enough, she never picked up the violin again.
“I don’t think I can play anymore.” she said.
“Whenever you can play again, come to me.”
That’s what her teacher, who loved her talent, said, but in the end, she couldn’t turn on her violin.
Her mother never sought out, forgave, or loved her “failed daughter” for letting her down.
Instead, she began to look for a substitute, someone who would fulfill her dreams without argument, not a defective product like me.
She remembered what her dad said when she took on a student.
“You have to understand, she’s in so much pain because you let her down. Because she’s a very poor person, huh?”
And her?
What about her, who has only ever had a mom?
She was left alone.
With nothing.
There was nothing.
A shining talent is only worth something if you can eventually play it.
and except for the violin in the first place, she was.
To her.
Without her mom, she’d be…
“I tried.”
She tried so hard.
What was the point of working a lifetime to be accepted and loved if it could all be so easily forgotten and replaced?
She forgot, and her despair swallowed her whole. The emotions she thought she’d dulled returned to bite at her heart, and the frustrations she thought she’d gotten past reared their ugly heads again.
She couldn’t love herself.
She thought that if she gave up her violin, she would only be loved as a mother and daughter…
She couldn’t be loved.
Her mom didn’t love her.
In the face of a sentence so clear and unequivocal, she broke down, longing for a love she couldn’t have.
Someday, her mom will look back.
There’s no way she won’t love her.
She’s probably neglecting her because she’s so angry right now, but when she’s calmed down, she’ll come back and hug her.
Isn’t that what being a parent and child is all about?
Isn’t that what they say?
In a darkened house with no one coming in, listening only to the ticking clock, she waited for her mom.
Until she finally admitted to herself that she had abandoned her.
Staring at the door that wouldn’t open.
For days and days.
“Mom…”
Still, she knew that at least once, she would ask her why she did it.
She thought her mother would find her and hug her at least once.
Just once.
Why did she have such hopes?
She spent all the money in the house, stayed in a hotel, and read web novels. Her parents didn’t scold her for her spending spree, and her credit card didn’t get blocked.
Complete indifference.
Her hope that her mom would find her one day was shattered, and she became a dried up, twisted corpse.
One day, after all that meaningless time.
When news broke that her student had won the contest she had failed, she decided to go out to see her and got into a car accident.
That’s how she died, she guessed.
‘Did my mom regret my death?’
A meaningless question now.
‘My mom…’
Would she be sad?
She was so hurt, so tortured to death, and yet she couldn’t let go.
Foolishly, stupidly.
She still wanted to be loved by her mom.
She still loved her mom.
Even after what she became, she still.
But who loves her when even her mom doesn’t love her?
When even she doesn’t love her.
-No one will save you.
-No one will love you.
-Who loves you when you’ve been abandoned by your own mother?
Festering feelings that ate away at her and made her sick.
-No one is helping you.
-There is no such thing as redemption.
-You’re alone.
Clinging, clammy, grimy, black hands reached out of the darkness and grabbed her ankles, seized her legs, and clutched at her thin neck.
To drag her away.
-You know that, don’t you, because no one likes a child who’s not as lovely as you are, who doesn’t have a cute little corner. If you want to be loved, you have to be lovely.
-They’ll eventually realize who you really are and get sick of you and leave. Like mom.
-So.
Let’s disappear like this.
That wouldn’t be so bad.
If you get eaten by the darkness, you can end up as a beloved child.
She won’t live long anyway, will she?
If she wakes up, she will be in pain and suffering. You can sleep here for the rest of your life and be happy.
So.
She was just about to grab the black hand that reached out to her.
“Arellin!”
Hmph.
A voice echoing faintly in the darkness.
“Pession…?”
Is this even a hallucination?
She must have misheard.
There was no way there was a Pession here.
She chuckled to herself. She hadn’t realized how much she liked Pession, how much she wanted to hear his voice at a moment like this…
A stubborn darkness covered her ears, clinging to her, trying to swallow her whole. Suddenly, the compass in her arms vibrated.
It was then.
“Arellin-!”
A clearer voice.
She looked up.
Chaaaak-!
The light poured in.
It was blindingly bright.
A white hand reached out through the bright light that dissolved the darkness and grabbed her.
“Arellin!”
“-!”
She saw a pure white face. Fine, silver-colored hair that frames a rounded forehead. Long, densely lashed eyelashes and red eyes as vibrant as the color of a rose.
If salvation had a shape, this is what it would look like.
She opened her mouth to speak in Moorish, then closed it again. No words came out as sounds.
Just.
All she could see was a beaming smile smiling at her.
“Arel, I’m here to pick you up.”
