Rowan angled his head, studying the dark with those immortal senses. “Perhaps the music does live on, in some form.” The thought made her eyes sting. “I wish you could have heard it—I wish you had been there to hear Pytor conduct the Stygian Suite. Sometimes, I feel like I’m still sitting down in that box, thirteen years old and weeping from the sheer glory of it.” “You cried?” She could almost see the memories of their training this spring flash in his eyes: all those times music had calmed or unleashed her magic. It was a part of her soul—as much as he was.
How i feel about the ocean
