It was her intention to save up enough money in order to buy a keyboard. So that she could stop bothering and wasting people's times by sneaking into the music department. And she had been saving up for that goal for some time now, ever since she rediscovered her love of the ivory keys. Because even though she was allowed, she still felt like a burden. A nuisance. Others were making music their careers, after all. Tenten was simply indulging in a loved hobby.
But already, Tenten knew. It would not be the same. Keyboards could synthesize the same tune of the piano as well as a thousand other different sounds. But it could never fabricate the entire experience. Of the heavy instrument fixed in place. And the elegance of the wood or marbled surface that made the piano so grand. Classic. Imposingly familiar. So while the keyboard would at least make her trips less frequent, the young woman would understood that she would not be able to stop herself from coming back. Here. Where the piano was almost like an extension of herself.
So lost was she in the beauty of the melody, of the harmony that was playing along in the far reaches of her memory, Tenten did not notice or her the soft click of the door being open. Or the feeling of being watched. She was accustomed to it after all, occasionally finding herself one piece in a small orchestra of music during theatrical performances, both for the school and local theatre productions. But there was something about how the music seemed to flow out from her with little effort that made everything else little more than trivial.
It did not matter. None of it did. She had an itch, and it needed to be scratched. And where one piece ended, another soon began with little pause in between. With seven years of lessons and entire summer -- an entire lifetime, it seemed -- of keeping them caged, Tenten needed to release some of that tension.
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