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Once there was a little girl who played her music for a little boy in the wood. She was small and dark, he was tall and fair, and the two of them made a fancy pair as they danced together, dancing to the music the little girl heard in her head.
“There is music in your soul. A wild and untamed sort of music that speaks to me. It defies all the rules and laws you humans set upon it. It grows from inside you, and I have a wish to set that music free.”
To confront him was to make him real, and I wanted to keep him my beautiful, indulgent secret.
“Ah, but are we not, in some ways, all trapped in a labyrinth of our own making?”
It was a pleasure to open that door and turn the lock, hearing the solid thunk and clang as the mechanism slid into place. I had done this so many times to my own heart; it was a pleasure to do it to the world.
“Your music,” he said at last. “Your music was the only thing that kept me sane, that kept me human instead of a monster.”
Keep her, make himself happy, and watch her die? Or set her free, break his heart, and watch her live?”
“So how does the story end?”
“You are the one who wanted a happy ending, my dear. So you tell me, how does the story end?”
This was the immortality humans were meant to have: to be remembered by those who loved us long after our bodies had crumbled into dust.
you have the very soul of me, Elisabeth.”
