It was the first time she had been alone since arriving three weeks ago. Rona was unused to having time on her hands, her work usualy kept her so busy that there was no time for inner reflection. She decided to explore the mansion where she was now a guest, as she was quite unfamiliar with its interior, having only used certain parts. It was a world of its own and she found the time flying by, yes, it was perfect. She enjoyed wandering around the many rooms of the palace; it was a huge place with many interesting nooks to discover, rooms full of books, bedrooms as huge as ballrooms, rooms filled with stunning pieces of art and ancient artifacts.
After some time she found herself in a part of the house she had never even realized existed before. It was quite by chance she found it, she had passed by this corner often and it appeared to be a dead end. This time she walked down to the end to get a closer look at the large painting at the end and when she got there, she saw that it turned sharply at the end; this was hidden though by the statue of Mozart that stood in the corridor. Overcome with excitement like a child who discovered a secret tunnel, she started down the corridor in her exploration. The corridor led on to others that were long with walls covered with many interesting portraits. There on the wall was one specifically a beautiful oil painting of a woman playing the violin; lost in rapture, her very fibre breathing sensuality and passion. She stood transfixed, it was stunning she thought, such beauty, and the artist was truly inspired, his use of colours, the tints, the slight brush strokes and the strong ones, the hues and tones, ah, such beauty. Memories of a time when music was her life flickered momentarily in her thoughts, before departing once more in to the dusty cobwebs of her mind. She turned and left the moved on. She sauntered along happily enjoying the moments of freedom, and then she came to a large door with intricate engravings.
Opening the old oak door, Rona entered into a room that seemed to have been at one time a music room. It was dusty and unused and she found many old and ancient instruments. Lining the panelled walls were bookcases filled with scrolls of music; dusty volumes of ancient songs and musical arrangements stood at the far side of the room. The room was filled not with only just instruments and music, but a collection of instruments from all over the world was stored within its walls. The various types of instruments she found there fascinated her as some she’d never seen before. It was a collector’s room by the look of it, someone that loved and studied and lived for music, yet from the state of the room one who was now dead or gone. As she looked through them all she spotted a beautiful old violin, it was one of older design, strange she thought. And for a moment, distant vague thoughts of her home seemed to flicker in some hidden corner of her mind. It had been many years now since she had played or listened to music, almost a forgotten part of her life.
She slowly worked her way through some scattered boxes and instruments towards it. It was almost irresistibly drawing her to it. She stood admiring it for a few seconds then tenderly picked up the instrument and ran her fingers softly, tenderly, lovingly along the dusty surface of the wood as she examined it. So smooth to the touch she thought, like a lover’s skin. She gently pursed her lips and blew the dust away her lips gently vibrating on the surface creating and strange sensation within her. Then her long slim fingers ran over the catgut and steel strings cleaning out the fluff and dust from between them, slipping delicately in and out between each one. The instrument was well preserved she thought, the soft pine of the belly was fragrantly aromatic, the ribs made from sycamore, and hard ebony for the tailpiece. She imbibed his very essence as she partook of its natural scents. Yes, it was a well-made piece she concluded.
Rona sat down on an old velvet covered stool and placed the violin upon her lap examining it carefully; the woodwork was engraved with striking designs and had an unusual color of stain. She took its long Maplewood neck between her slender fingers moving them slowly, gently along its thin smooth neck. She closed her eyes caressing the piece as tenderly as if it had been a lover, intimately seeking outs its inner secrets, feeling its delicate form and smooth curves.
Thoughts of love, life, vibrancy and fruitfulness filtered into her conscience a vision of beautiful valleys, sensual riverbanks with lovers playing swimming carefree and alive. She envisioned cascading waterfalls, she felt the soft gentle ripples lapping the banks, like a lover in and out’ gradually coming near to the goal, claiming the land exploring gently quietly tenderly. These thoughts loomed within the periphery of her consciousness, rivers, fast running rivers, brooks, and streams, surrounded by a lush emerald valley. She sighed, such beauty, such wonder, there before her was the beauty of nature. Beautiful fields, cool refreshing rivers, water falls, brooks and streams, ah such beauty, spring flowers, carefree animals springing and cavorting, gamboling in the sunshine, all these thoughts seemed to spring to her mind as she ran her hand along the smooth contours.
She could hear the elves singing and the melody lingering in the air. It was almost as if she were feeling the instrument’s life-force flow into her soul. Yes, that was it, it was as if the violin was alive and she was somehow imbibing some of its soul. It was crying out to her, the music was there; it was a part of it waiting but to be released. She gently plucked on the strings; the sound was delicate, crystal clear and resonated with magical effects as beautiful, visions of green pastures flooded to her mind. She then picked up the bow, cleaning the horsehair strings from any dust particles, gently running her finger up and down, feeling it quiver between her fingers, waiting, waiting to explode into life and share its inner essence with her. She closed her eyes picturing once more the valley and river, the beauty of it all, and then she started to play.
It was as if the vision she saw in her mind was now flowing through her hands into the instrument and transformed into music as the hauntingly beautiful notes flooded the chamber. Visions of fields covered in swaying flowers, bright vivid colors and soft, gentle swaying. She moved her bow lightly, touching the strings tenderly bringing forth beauty and sensitivity. Ah, ever so tenderly, she touched the strings with her fingertips to produce beautiful harmonics. And in-between her strokes her eyes filled with tears as her emotions were touched by these feelings. The rushing of the stream, the power of the rivers, the falls crashing down in a mighty crescendo ah, the beauty of the waterfall, the grandeur of spring, the buzzing of the bees, the singing of the larks, and the birth of life, all was there coming to life. The notes lived within her, the melodies exploded in waves of ecstatic sensations, thrilling her, bursting forth into beauteous sounds as they channel through the soft scented wood of the violin, exploding into the air, numbing her senses and bringing forth life.
Then it came, strong, dark and looming, the black clouds of storm. The beat intensified, faster and faster she played, darker and darker came the picture, the storm had come, the rains pounded down from the heavens, the winds wild and strong turned into a whirling maelstrom. Faster and faster, darker and darker, the picture formed inside her soul and she felt her emotions running through her fingertips as they sprang into a life of their own. The power, the energy, the pent up seeds of life bursting forth rushing through her being; exploding, erupting like some powerful volcano, and enveloping her with its magical throbbing notes.
Then suddenly silence; quiet, gentle notes lost in the blanket of the aftermath, emerging like new hope, and little rays of sun breaking through the clouds. Elves and fairies skipped and laughed. Little heads of color were popping back to beautify the fields; a strong young shepherd emerged, striding across the field. The sparkling river water, the young trout swimming and the salmon leaping while the sun shone down upon all. Her bow skipped and jumped across the strings, the shepherd was searching, a determined look upon his features. He was crying out, ah, yes, an answer came; it was a bleat, the sound of a lost sheep. He hurried until he reached the brambles by the cliff; yes, there he was, entangled in the biting grasp of the thorns. He reached down and freed him; his hands cut and bleeding ripped by the sharp pointed thorns. Onto his shoulders and off to the village to rejoice they went.
The tune changed; lively, happy, wild, carefree music of the spring. The valley was transformed, rebirth, new life, all was beauty, fish leapt in the rivers, flowers pushed out from beneath the earth. Rona’s frame swayed with the sensual, passionate rhythm of the wild dance music, fairies with their halos of spring flowers, round and round they danced, rising in tempo and force to a powerful climax, as the melody transported her, the music cascading through her fingers, her mind, her soul her very being bursting forth in ecstasy, blissfully enveloping her in waves of sensual sounds. Then gently ebbing away, giving way to gentle rippling waves of praises and thanksgiving for the gift of life.
As the music transformed to that of rejoicing; everyone joined with the shepherd in thanksgiving and then gradually all grew quiet again. The music’s pulsating rhythm abated, the movements became gentler, sweeter and restful. The interspaced silences became a part of the overall sound, the great symphonic masterpiece carousing through her soft swaying flesh, and bursting through her fingers as she became one with the instrument, her fingers pulling forth its very soul from within as they became one. Then the rejoicing was over, the friends all returned home, the animals fell to slumber, and the shepherd once more had earned his sweet repose. The fairies retired to their magic grotto, the elves returning to the hidden woodlands. Thus the music drifted off until it was gone and a feeling of hope, peace, and love had filled her soul once more. Rona stopped and put down the bow on the side table; she was shaking, quivering with excitement, breathless, sweating, and aroused; as if all of her emotions had climaxed in a tremendous orgasm of beauty and inspiration.
What had happened to her, why was she feeling like this, it had been almost a sexual experience she thought, what had taken control of her? Her mind and spirit had merged for the first time in years, and small whispers were vaguely audible in some far corner of her mind. The emotions she had experienced opened once more her channel to music, a small speck of sunlight hovered before her shining through the small stained glass window, as if waiting to see what she would do. She had once more found her old lover; once more the rapturous waves of sensuality had been aroused within her and transported her to spiritual highs she had long forgotten. Would she open once more to the music and yield to her lover ardour and caresses or close up again moving into the shell of darkness that had surrounded her since music had departed from her? The colours seemingly danced in the light, changing, moving, gorgeous. Music waited, living notes waiting ready to be plucked from the air. Passion, love, power, sorrow, fear, peace, all surrounded her waiting to be given life. It was all now in her hands as to what she would do it.