Black Sails - Miranda
However fiercely she burns, the keys are always cold. Her fingers caress the ivory and black. Lately, sitting at the small spinet is the only place she can be certain of finding Thomas. It scares her. She plays his favourite music over and over and then she just plays, the fastest pieces she knows, fingers flying in an attempt to conjure him up out of the music. Sometimes she succeeds and feels him hovering behind her, his arms around her, his hands working in harmony with hers.
She doesn’t often play for James, selfish, for once. These memories are hers.