The rain, a ceaseless waterfall of grief, wept against the high windows of the music room, every drop a sorrowful tear etching a path through the dirt, as though the glass itself recalled a lost melody beneath the ceaseless passage of time, a love washed away by the bitter exigencies of their universe.
Seo-yeon's back was to the large grand piano, whose ebony surface a mirror seemed of the tempest raging inside of her, whose fingers glided over the wood's cool lacquer as they frantically hunted for echoes from a past she felt both at once intensely close and bitterly unfamiliar.
The room was a mausoleum of lost sounds, weighted with the aroma of old wood, the soft, lingering specter of ivory polish, and an invisible presence, a ghostly residue of feelings too deep to fade.
