https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/714102344819884032/theheadlessgroom-beatingheart-bride

@beatingheart-bride

The soft, slow melody of the violin began to waft through the cool, crisp air outside the mausoleum, Randall’s heart pounding as he played, his eyes fixed on the door to the crypt: He couldn’t tell if his racing pulse was because this was the first time he’d ventured beyond the walls of the opera house in many, many years (even with his face so obscured, the notion of being spotted set a cold, aching pit in his gut) or because he was nervous the prospect of speaking with Emily after six long months of silence, but at any rate, he could feel himself quivering beneath the dark layers he used to hide himself in.

And yet, he still played for her, a haunting melody that he was sure would be familiar to her-the love theme from Don Juan Triumphant. He just put the bow to the strings and began to play, and that was the song that came-perhaps it was a plea for her to hear him out, perhaps it was a confession of love (love she once held for him, he realized all too late), perhaps it was an effort to comfort her in the midst of her mourning, or perhaps some combination of the three. At any rate, he was there, and for all his fear, he was glad to be with her.

“Emily...” he whispered softly on the wind, his voice mournful and tender as he called to her, eyes pleading as he watched the door, waiting to see her: He could only hope that she would be willing to hear him out. He had so much to tell her...