The only light was the flickering green glow that reflected off the water and danced along the cold, stone walls. The candles had long since melted away, dripping down the golden candelabras like blood from a wound. Still he sat before the organ, head bowed. His fingers rested on the keys, but the music had fled from him.
“Christine.” The word dropped like a stone from his lips, but it seemed to drift off into the silence like a feather.
Standing up slowly, he felt for the first time like an old man. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes fell upon the stack of music sheets that rested on the corner of the organ. A fine layer of dust covered them now, but he could still read the flowing black script at the top. Don Juan Triumphant.
With a fierce cry, he leapt forward and seized it in his bony hands. Ripping and tearing frantically, he stumbled towards the lake with an unearthly grimace contorting his face. Letting the shreds of paper drift down onto the water and slowly drown, he turned back around with wild eyes.
Next was the violin, shattered like glass against the rock. No words left him, but one only had to look into his eyes to read the story that was told so plainly there.
Nothing was spared. Every mirror was smashed, every candlestick toppled, every composition torn.
At last he collapsed once more onto the bench of the organ, his labored breathing transformed into sharp gasps, one skeleton-like hand clutching at his breast. “Are you happy Christine?” His voice was weak, hoarse. “At last you’ve succeeded –“ A rasping cough shook his lean frame, and trails of tears coursed down his twisted face. “It’s over now…”
His head sank slowly down onto his arms, falling onto the cracked ivory keys. They still refused to sing.
The music of the night…