When she opened the dark wooden doors, she expected to see a room filled to the brim of people with their chins high in the air, their bodies seated in the comfortable plush red chairs and their attention turned towards the stage. But what she saw was nothing and felt the ghostly warmth of their bodies as she trailed down the carpeted steps, to her kingdom; the stage.

     On her body were two layers of oversized coats that draped down to the back of her legs. Skinny jean pants hugged her legs tightly, revealing that she was nothing but skin and bones and her neck was swallowed by the several plain scarves other had donated to her out of sorrow at the fact that she was homeless, and had to bite down the harsh winter on the streets. Over her hands were torn gloves that she had found in a trash bin which did no justice to the frostbite, but eased the pain. To top off her peculiar look, was a black beanie with a pom pom and sunglasses that laid on the top of her head.

     She grinned in awe as her head twisted and turned, gleaming up at the chandelier lights that glowered her ugliness in such a beautiful place. It really was like a palace and every few steps down, she would gleam behind her. Making sure no one was around before turning her attention back to the stage that called her name.

     The stage was pristine, paneled with light oak wood and held dark velvet curtains that were as tall as trees at its side. Near the front of the stage, a Vennia Westwood Piano sat crooked facing the audience. Its color mimicked her soul, black. A smile pressed on her face. It had been two years since she had laid eyes on such a beautiful instrument. One that cried her sorrows and sang her laughs. And it was the only thing left on the stage after the recital she sadly missed by thirty minutes.

     Her body made it to the front and she slid over to the small staircase off to the left, her small hands caressing the cold steel rail. Slowly she made it up the steps and when she took the last step, she couldn’t contain her happiness. 

     She practically pranced over to the piano, trying to think of what to play. Beethoven? Mozart? Brahms? All the variations of music she could play within just a couple of minutes tingled her fingertips as she sat down on the piano bench and ran her dirty fingers over the pearly white keys.

     Without hesitation, she pressed down on A key and it was then, she felt it. Her past becoming once again alive, causing emotions to swirl inside her heart and twisted her stomach, making her feel sick. But she swallowed the pain, the hatred, and began to play a song that screamed her wrath towards the very person who caused her so much pain and that had made her a flower in the attic.