Sunday, 12/08/2250 – By Rebecca Green.
Like a flowing river, notes spilled from the hairs of her bow, each one fashioned by the tingle of strings that stretched the length of her fingerboard. Even as she played, the swan maiden would reach up and tighten or loosen the pegs that millimeter she could tell was off. Her song briefly halting for each change, but every few beats she did it again.
Aelita had always loved the violin. She poured her heart and soul into the instrument more often than not. She had been learning since she was three, piano a bit earlier. Of course simple stuff then, but quickly Aelita had grown used to playing proper pieces by the time she was seven, and it only had flourished from there. She’d been in the advanced symphony from the moment she became a third year, and first seat violin since fifth.
The wooden instrument meant everything to her and she was good at it, one of the best. She had to be. Her fingers were steady, her arm careful to contain the piece of art in her grasp. Dropping it would have to be her worst nightmare, Aelita couldn’t imagine losing it, not anymore. Not when her father had been the one to pick it out with her when she turned sixteen and had outgrown her last.