Short Story #1: The Music
The first of my short story vignettes. These are written in one-go, no revisions, no rewrites. I hope you enjoy.
Inspiration for this story came from Guilhem Desq’s album, “Visions”.
A cold unease nestled itself into Jessica’s spine, prompting her shoulders and arms to buzz with the constant, repressed need to flinch at every shadow. The wind whispered quiet promises of sleep as it combed through her lustrous brown hair, caressing her face like the ghost of a forgotten lover. The trees stood bare of leaves, standing as dark revenants despite being in the depths of the summer months. These quiet overseers arched high over the cobblestone path that laid itself invitingly at Jessica’s feet, blocking out the benevolent sun and leaving all things mottled by shifting shadows. Jessica turned around, seeking the path that she only just walked on. It was gone. There stood only trees, moss, and mushrooms. Frost carved through her nerves, and her face seemed suddenly quite cold.
“Where am I?”
Silence greeted her, for the trees care not for the concerns of humans. She shook her head, and lightly slapped her face with both hands. Resolve and control restored, Jessica turned back towards the path before her, and reluctantly stepped forward, the moss muting any sound her booted foot might have made upon the old cobble. Her hair stood on end, as if shocked at her decision, and Jessica was helpless as she felt her entire body clench in anticipation of…
Nothing. As quickly as it came, the feeling subsided. Her hair resumed its rightful position, gently hanging from her scalp. The ice was purged from her body as her blood felt safe to travel once again. She took a deep breath, the pressure of her ribs against her clothing a comforting physical sensation. Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, she pulled forth her smartphone. It was dead.
“Strange, I could’ve sworn I charged it fully. I only left home an hour ago. Shit.”
She would have liked to listen to some music on her walk, but that was not to be. Returning her phone to its resting place, she reached into an inner coat pocket and pulled forth her reason for walking. A letter, handwritten on a paper with a crisp and sophisticated letterhead. The symbol adorning the top of the paper was two perpendicular diamonds, crossed in the center and contained within two circles. The deep blue ink seemed to shimmer in the faint light, much like the night sky reflected in the waters of a pond. Her eyes shifted to the message itself, and she felt her heart begin to pound as she re-read the words.
I have been watching you for some time. Your dancing at the cultural festival was entrancing, and I’d like to help forward your career. My family has lived here for centuries, and you could say I appreciate those that respect the traditions. I would like to formally invite you to my residence for a private showing and lively discussion in one week. You will be well paid, of course, for your time: a sum of five-thousand United States dollars. And perhaps something more, should you desire it. My address is written below.
Do not worry about the music, I will provide it. Simply bring your passion, and your self.
~C. Healy
Five thousand dollars. Jessica sighed at the sum. That much money for a simple girl to dance? Her thoughts drifted back to her family. Owen was happy for her, as any supportive brother would be. He knew that Jessica had always dreamed of making a living off of the dancing she loved so much. To be able to thrive simply by feeling the beat and voice of the music, letting it dictate the movements and pulses of her body? Ecstasy. When she read the letter aloud, his grey-blue eyes grew wide and his mouth smiled wider. The little eleven-year-old was so excited for his sister’s sake. Jessica hoped that he never lost that excitement. Their father, however, was less pleased. His steel-grey eyes narrowed as he read over the letter, as if he could discern the intent and character of the man behind the pen simply by glaring. He met her gaze, and shook his head.
“I don’t trust this. It’s probably some creep trying to prey on a pretty girl. You shouldn’t do it. The man hardly ever comes to town, nobody knows him well.”
“I know it’s sketchy, but that money could help us pay off the debts from Owen’s surgery costs, as well as pay for applications to a couple schools — ”
Her father sighed, cutting her off. “You’re an adult now, so you can make your own decisions. I know I can’t stop you if you really want to do it. You’re too much like your mother — both of you gave, and will continue giving me more grey hair than I need.” This last said with a finger pointed at his close-cropped military haircut, in which grey was beginning to seep from his temples into the coarse black strands.
“I’ll be careful Dad, I promise. You didn’t force me to take martial arts for so many years for nothing, after all,” Jessica said with a laugh. He laughed in response, and Jessica began practicing for what could be her biggest performance, one week away…
A loud, hollow click broke Jessica from her reverie. Her boot had clicked on cleaned, moss-free cobblestone. The stone was a strange bleached white, as if all life and color had been sucked out. Jessica raised her head, and was shocked to see that her surroundings had changed. She didn’t remember walking. It had only been a couple minutes, hadn’t it? The large white gate standing before her hadn’t been visible in the distance before, had it? The same crossed-diamonds symbol adorned the center of the gate, this time rendered in polished, bright lapis lazuli. The blue contrasted against the white metal of the gate drastically — there was no way such a construct would have escaped Jessica’s notice before. The shining metal of the gate was supported on either side by a large round column of polished marble. Aside from the symbol on the gate, the structures were completely unadorned. Mr. Healy’s wealth was shown not in ridiculous decorative designs, but in the value of the construction materials themselves. Perhaps he viewed himself as a simpler man than most wealthy men.
Jessica glanced around her, trying to determine how far down the path she had traveled in such a short time. The trees opened up around the gate, as if in respect, letting a solitary patch of sunlight grace the metal and stone. The light was dim, but grew brighter as what was likely a cloud moved past it. The light struck the flecks of gold within the lapis lazuli of the symbol, creating a symbol that resembled a glittering ocean at sunset. The light reflected off of the white metal of the gate, creating a gleaming, almost blinding visage, where the only relief was in the blue depths of the crossed diamonds. The sight made Jessica’s breath cease, as if the movement of air was disrespectful towards the timely beauty of the Healy Estate’s front gate. The blue stone entranced her, and she could not bear to look away from its depths.
The silence of the light was broken by something faint, carried from a distant place on the breeze. The faint peal of the violin, perhaps? Jessica was unsure, but the subtle, melancholy cry of the instrument called her inside, inspiring her to action in the same way a crying child does. The sound grasped her heart, and gently pulled her towards the gate. The beautiful lapis symbol split down the center, scattering the reflected light like a handful of golden coins thrown into the sky. Jessica’s first steps onto the Healy Estate grounds were baptized in golden light. She stepped forward, utterly entranced.
The air seemed to be still, as if waiting for something to happen. She was too distracted to notice. The trees stirred in anticipation.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Between her and the estate house lay a garden of water. The cobblestone path was interrupted by a path of beautifully smoothed stones, laid naturally side-by-side. Water trickled gently over and around stacks of stones, bubbling from a source that was hidden by an artful display of beautiful lilies. The crystal clear liquid caught the few vestiges of light that the trees allowed to reach it, flanking the pathway with intricate curving, spiraling, and arcing paths of silver. Jessica was taken in by the sight of it. The landscape on either side was varied, with small hills rising gently from the earth beside the mercurial rivulets, as if housing faeries that lived as simple fishermen. The streams were decorated with intricate carvings hewn from many different stones; small bridges of marble carried the waters from the heights of one hill to a spiral-carved tower of obsidian. The light caught the water as well as the shadows caught the black stone, creating the image of water suspended magically in the air. Such towers and similar constructs littered the garden, creating a gentle space where the water itself seemed to jump into the air, sparkling and glittering in the few bright spots as if flirting with the sun.
Jessica found herself in the middle of the water garden, enthralled by the dancing of the shining fluid. Behind her stood the path and the gate, ahead of her stood a small bridge that crossed the largest stream. It was likely several feet across, and seemed to be what fed the water garden. Or did the garden feed it? It was hard to tell. As she softly treaded across the marble bridge, whose construction was bare of any ornament, she heard something once again break the ambiance, crying softly over the playful trickling of the water. The high-pitched wail of a string tormented by the bow held by a musician tore at Jessica’s heart. The notes moved slowly, deliberately, the pitch arcing from high to low like a diving raptor seen in slow motion. It told a wordless tale of lonely tragedy, and Jessica felt herself sad and confused. If he was so clearly lonely, why did he keep himself in seclusion? Those thoughts fell weakly to the wayside of her mind, easily pushed aside by the haunting cry of the music. She closed her eyes, letting her body sway to the dirge. She stood there for what could have been seconds, or what could have been an hour. When she opened her eyes, she found herself facing the door to the estate. The same white metal that graced the gate lined the sturdy wood of the door. A lapis stone knocker waited for her hand. It was shaped like a raven’s head, with the ring held securely in its beak. The eyes were inlaid with obsidian, and they seemed to watch her expectantly. The water seemed to fade to a whisper, like gossiping schoolgirls in a library.
Jessica slowly reached for the lapis ring. A chill slowly permeated her body, not unlike being caught out in a heavy rain. As she touched the lapis ring, she gasped out loud. It was pleasantly warm, the smooth stone beneath her fingers feeling almost alive. As she gasped, the entrancing music broke off mid-note. Jessica froze, muscles tense, like a rabbit having sighted a distant dog. The water seemed to whisper behind her, and the air was still. Waiting. She swallowed, or at least tried to. She once again took a deep breath, eyes closed, and slowly let it out. Steeling herself, she resolutely struck the knocker ring against the carved chest of the raven. The clack of the stone striking stone was rudely loud and offensive to her. Almost immediately, Jessica heard the tell-tale clicking of someone operating a series of locks. The door swung inward, almost too quickly, revealing the owner of the estate, and Jessica’s potential future patron: Mr. Healy. His wavy cinnamon hair was disheveled, as if he had just awoken. His clothes were of fine make, though in an older fashion. His button shirt was open at the top two buttons, revealing a necklace adorning his throat. His shirt was untucked, his fine trousers were wrinkled, yet clean, and he wore only socks on his feet. His face was not yet shaven for the day, and so was darkened by the overnight stubble growth. His eyes looked down slightly to meet her gaze, and had significant shadows hanging from them, despite his youthful face.
In short, he was a musician.
But all of these things were not noticed by Jessica, for she could not look at anything other than his eyes. Eyes that were greener than the rolling hills of Ireland were flecked with strands of gold and shadow. Jessica was caught by the shining gold, comforted by the gentle verdant irises, and slowly felt herself being captivated by the shadows between them. But, as she looked deeper, she found herself coming across a barrier, a mirror between her and him. She could not see any more of him, and was forced to look upon herself, with her narrow nose, too-wide mouth, and freckled face. That rather quickly broke the spell, bringing her rudely back to reality.
He smiled sheepishly, “Hello, am I to assume that you are miss Jessica Connery?”
Jessica’s face flushed, “Y-Yes, sorry. Yes, I am Jessica. You’re Mr. Healy, right?”
He nodded. “Please, call me Ciaran. I do so hate formalities. They make me fall asleep,” this last he said with a haunted look. Jessica smiled.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ciaran.”
“Likewise, Jessica. Please, do come inside. As much as I enjoy my garden, it is not the place to conduct business, I think.”
Ciaran spoke eloquently, and yet casually. He spoke in a manner that most people, Jessica included, would have said is only for the stuffy old-school nobles who think too highly of themselves. Yet he seemed to almost be mocking it. He waved her inside with a grand sweeping gesture that completely contrasted with his appearance. Jessica stepped over the threshold and was met with a sight straight out of the 1920’s. The foyer opened into a modest empty space, flanked by two elegant cushioned benches. Three doorways exited the room, one on each side, and one across the room: a white arch set between the two staircases moving to the upper level. All of the wood was carved mahogany, and the floor of the foyer was decorated by a rug that displayed a deep blue raven drawn within the crossed-diamond sigil that marked the letter and the gate. A black-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, the metal swirling and twisting like ink caught in a whirlpool. Jessica could not see what kind of lightbulb the chandelier held, but between the generous light and the white ceiling, the chandelier’s faint rotation was exacerbated to the point of being hypnotic.
“Careful, if you stare at that for too long you’ll go blind,” Ciaran said with a straight face.
Jessica started and looked at him with a horrified face. Ciaran smiled wryly. “A joke, a joke. Not a particularly good one, I suppose.” He sighed. “It has been some time since I’ve had company.”
Jessica put her hands up in front of her, “No no, it’s not bad. I just wasn’t expecting it.” She looked around once more. “I honestly wasn’t expecting a lot of this. Even you look different than I was expecting.”
His eyebrow perked up and the corner of his mouth tugged upward slightly. “Oh? Tell me, what were you expecting? A somewhat creepy older gentleman, maybe with eyes that were a little too…investigative?” He looked her over in a gross caricature of that same kind of character, wiggling his eyebrows.
Jessica’s face flushed and she vigorously waved her hands, “Alright, alright I’m sorry! Maybe a little bit!” She said this last with scrunched eyebrows, which prompted Ciaran to laugh. His laugh was a little more of a cackle, but it was genuine, and it prompted a similar giggle out of Jessica.
“Ah, that’s much better. Artists such as us should laugh and be merry, I think.” Ciaran said, after catching his breath. “Life’s too short to be solemn all of the time, right?”
“Right.” Jessica affirmed. Ciaran seemed surprised at the response, but not as surprised as he was by Jessica’s next statement. “So, did you like what you saw?”
“Eh? What? What do you — ” It was Ciaran’s turn to be red-faced, and he raised his fist to his mouth and coughed pointedly. “Might the miss desire any refreshment?”
Jessica frowned at his quick return to formality, disappointed. There I go again, trying to be funny with people I don’t yet know. She sighed. I am here on business, technically. I guess I should be more professional…I think.
“Do you have a Coke?” She asked.
“I think so, I’ll be right back. If I don’t have any, what would you like instead?”
“Just water, in that case. I’m easy.”
“Somehow I doubt that statement, if you’ll pardon my saying so,” Ciaran quipped over his shoulder as he left through the left-hand door, prompting a short exclamation of surprise from his guest. Jessica stood awkwardly in the foyer. Do I sit somewhere, or just stand here? She elected to sit on one of the fine benches on the sides of the room. She sat, unzipping her coat and pulling forth her cell phone. Still dead, of course. She put it away and leaned back, taking in the sight of the room and processing her impressions of the estate owner. He was hard to read. He was clever, but lonely. Jessica couldn’t pin down his age.
“Anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, I think…” she muttered to herself, gazing at the rug. If he was any older, he aged quite well. Jessica’s aunt would be jealous.
“Thirty-seven, actually.”
Jessica jumped a little in her seat, and looked up to see Ciaran with a can of Coke in one hand, and a glass of a bubbly liquid in the other. He handed her the can. “You were trying to guess my age right? I’m thirty-seven, I think. Or was I wrong?” He asked.
Jessica shook her head, “How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess. It helped that we hadn’t yet discussed anything regarding numbers yet, beyond your guaranteed payment. Which, incidentally, I’ll write the check for before you leave. Remind me, just in case.” He smiled. “I can be forgetful about things while I’m having a good time.”
“I can relate. I lose track of time when I’m dancing, sometimes it feels like seconds and sometimes it feels like hours.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I am much the same. Sometimes it feels like months can pass in the time of one of my songs.” Ciaran’s smile faded slightly. His eyes were facing her, but were looking at something else, far away. Jessica looked once more into those eyes, and once again was met with the mirror. However, at that moment, there was a crack. If Jessica peered closely she could almost make out something in his expression —
He shook his head, and the mirror flashed into wholeness once more. He met her gaze for real, and smiled again. “Now, follow me to my study, and we can discuss the reason I invited you here.”
They rose together, and Jessica followed Ciaran through the archway, past a comfortable and modern-looking common area, and through a door emblazoned with the crossed diamonds sigil. Within, she was greeted by a moderately sized room. On the right side of the room sat a beautiful old desk and chair, and on the other side of the room stood a rack displaying an array of instruments. Beside that rack was a small empty space, with bare hardwood floors instead of the rich black carpet that filled the rest of the room. The walls were painted a deep blue, and the wall opposite the door was filled with floor-to-ceiling windows, through which was a view of a small domesticated orchard. The room was pleasantly warm, but not stifling, and the slow, simple ceiling fan kept the air moving. Jessica once more examined the rack of instruments, and was surprised to see not only a violin and viola, but also two flutes, a clarinet, and what appeared to be a bagpipe. Ciaran followed her gaze and chuckled.
“I have a lot of time on my hands, so I play a number of things. Some I enjoy more than others.” He said self-deprecatingly. “But I enjoy just about all of them nonetheless.”
‘Just about’? Jessica thought. But she shrugged it off as a statement of no import. Ciaran pulled out a chair on the other side of his desk, and graciously gestured for Jessica to sit. She did so, and her host smoothly settled into the grand chair on his side of the desk. He placed his elbows on the table, his fingers forming a steeple in front of him. In that moment, he ceased appearing to be a lonely, clever man with too much space and time on his hands, and appeared as the calm master of the house.
“So, let us get down to business. We both share an appreciation for the arts, and for our culture. I’m concerned about aspects of that culture being forgotten, and I would like your help in preserving those aspects. In exchange, I will help provide funding and patronage for your career as a dancer as you progress in life — no questions asked.”
Jessica leaned in. “No questions asked? Isn’t that risky for you? What’s to prevent me from taking your money and blowing it on drugs or alcohol?”
Ciaran shrugged. “Absolutely nothing. Consider it hazard pay, if you’d like. I’ve been told in the past I can be difficult to work with.”
“What does that mean?”
“Frankly, I don’t know. I have somewhat of a hole in my memory from those times. I barely remember the names or faces of those I’ve worked with. I have records of the transactions, and I know that they fulfilled their part of the bargain, but I’ve not seen them in a great many years…” The young man seemed suddenly quite old, as his voice trailed off. His eyes once again seemed to be looking at something far away. Or perhaps from a long time ago. Jessica couldn’t help but be concerned for him, this lonely man living in a manse in the woods. She started to reach across the deep red wood of the desk towards him, when his eyes snapped back into focus and targeted her, catching her gaze like a snake hypnotizes a mouse. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with frost.
“Please, do not concern yourself with me. It would not be a good use of your time.” He coughed, breaking the awkward tension. “My apologies, I should not have let myself be so mentally transient when I’m hosting a guest that I myself invited.”
Jessica pulled her hand back, face slightly red. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’ll — I’ll keep that in mind. It’s no problem, really.”
He sighed. Leaning back in his chair, he adopted a more relaxed posture. “Anyway, let’s return to business. I want to make sure that our talents are indeed compatible before we are comfortable with patronage. That, by the way, would be my one requirement: I would be your sole patron, and have the opportunity to be your supporting musician for all events. That is not to say that you’d be unable to dance to others’ music. Asking that of you would be beyond unreasonable. I just want first pick.” He shrugged his shoulders and exposed his palms with that last statement.
“Those terms seem perfectly acceptable to me,” Jessica replied quickly. She had little reason to ponder; she wanted to make her career as a dancer a good one, and he was clearly wealthy enough to support the first steps of that. More importantly, the money she made with him could help her family. She continued, “When can we do the tryout…thing? Or whatever you’d like to call it.”
“We can do it now, if you’d like. We can do it right here, actually. I set up the stage over there to be used after all. My friends and I used to hold parties here, where we’d all play music and dance. But, it’s been a long time since that stage has been well used.” Ciaran looked sadly, but lovingly, at the stage. It was the same expression one would give a beloved, but very old, dog.
Jessica walked over to the stage, and deftly skipped up the small step that raised it. She removed her coat and sweatshirt, dropping them off of the side of the stage. She normally danced in the cultural attire, but a black t-shirt and yoga pants was fine. They wouldn’t restrict her movement at all, and were comfortable besides. She starting stretching, making sure she was limber and not at risk of cramping. It had been a week or so since she danced; it felt pleasant to do her warm-ups again. Ciaran moved to the rack of instruments, as if deciding what to play. After a moment he paused. He shook his head, and moved back behind his desk, where he leaned down. Jessica heard a series of clicks, and just barely saw the top of a black chest’s lid open in front of Ciaran. From within he pulled an instrument that Jessica hadn’t seen before. She stopped stretching, fascinated by the musical contraption in front of her.
On one end of the instrument was a typical string instrument tuning branch, much like a guitar or violin. But the six strings were pulled tautly over a thick body, where they ran through a keyed box, resembling a section of a piano, before reaching the other end of the instrument. There stood a crank, and a turning wheel, across which the strings were pulled and fastened. The instrument was made of a series of different types of lacquered wood. The wood of the body and crank was stained a deep red so dark it seemed black. The wood of the keys were bleached white, like bone. The wheel was painted the same deep blue that Ciaran’s estate was so fond of. As Ciaran lifted it and turned, Jessica caught a glimpse of a deep red symbol etched onto the wheel: the crossed diamonds of the Healy estate. Ciaran handled the instrument with a great deal of reverence, care, and a hint of something that Jessica couldn’t quite understand. Trepidation?
“Jessica.”
The sound of her name broke her focus, startling her. She shifted her gaze from the fascinating instrument to its owner. She met his eyes, and once again found that mirror cracked. From behind that once-impenetrable barrier protecting his soul, she once again saw that indeterminate emotion, roiling like water just under the boiling point.
“I have to impose a new condition on you, just for today.”
“Sure, what is it?” Jessica asked, confused.
“You cannot look at me while I play. You must dance with your eyes closed. Are you capable of that?” His gaze was steely, but the artery in his neck stood out, a vein twitched on the side of his otherwise smooth forehead, and a single trickle of sweat slid from his cheek to down his neck, before settling restlessly in the hollow created by his collarbones. Something wasn’t right.
“I don’t understand, why do I — ” Jessica couldn’t finish.
“Don’t ask questions!” Ciaran hissed through his teeth. He took a deep breath. “Quickly now, let’s do this. Are you ready?”
Jessica nodded, and closed her eyes. “You can set the beat. I assume that I am to improvise this?”
“Yes. Begin when the music strikes you.”
Jessica waited, loose and relaxed — at least physically. She waited, her body beginning to buzz with the excitement of the dance. Ciaran began playing.
A slow drone started playing from directly in front of her. She began to sway slightly back in forth. Then, above the drone, came a rapid series of notes, the menacing hum of the strings beating a tense tattoo reminiscent of a ritual into the air. She began to stomp her heel to the beat, marking time as she felt the music begin to reach her. The ritual slowed, longer notes cried out like a mourning brother. She began to slowly spin, the steps coming to her naturally. She almost didn’t notice when another sound began to sing out from her left, a somber, melancholy melody in a higher pitch than the rest sung out over the ritual. The song’s notes seemed to climb mountains and explore deep valleys, at a slow and deliberate pace. Jessica felt her arms stretch out, like wings, her body shifting like water in the flow of the melody. Suddenly, the music stopped. She paused, mid step.
A new sound struck out from her right, the sound of a hand striking a wooden drum. The new beat was faster, more frantic. She adapted quickly, transitioning into a more aggressive and footwork-heavy cultural dancing style. Ciaran’s music again sang out in front of her once more, the low drone supporting a series of notes that started high, and pitched higher in the frantic cries of a rabbit running from a diving falcon. From her right, a harmony sung forth, stretching like a ribbon of oily smoke across the tense melody. Sweat dripped freely from Jessica’s brow as she spun and waved, frantically trying to keep up with the increasing tempo. The harmony began being overtaken by its own tempo! Suddenly, a fourth voice of music from behind her screamed out like a hunting falcon, threatening to drown out the music entirely. The music screamed forth like a terrible beast, and Jessica felt like she was being chased down by a monster from her nightmares. Its knife-edged maw opened before her, and she cried out, barely able to keep up with the tempo. The jaws of the beast snapped shut, and the final scream of the strings was cut hopelessly short, at the apex of its cry.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Jessica opened her eyes, and found herself staring at a ceiling with paint that was old and faded, no longer resembling its original deep green color. Her ceiling. She turned her head to the right, seeing her old white desk, her laptop, and a few choice novels. The early rays of the dawn sun peeked through the window shades, casting the room in a dim orange light. The pillow rustled against her hair as she turned. She slowly lifted herself up, rising to a seated position. The motion sent hot iron pulsing through her skull, and she gasped slightly at the pain.
Holy headache, Batman. Jessica thought to herself. Thinking itself seemed to hurt. She raised her arms above her head, stretching as she woke from her slumber. She was sore. What was she sore from? It’s not as if she had been dancing last night —
Wait. It all came rushing back. Ciaran Healy, the beautiful estate in the woods, the water garden…
The music. That haunting, terrible, beautiful music. That music that scoured her soul. The music that should have been impossible, with just one man.
“How did I get back here?” Jessica wondered aloud, feeling somewhat numb. The previous night’s events were very, very hard to process. She shook herself. “I went, he played, I danced, and that was the end of it.”
But that didn’t answer her question about getting home. It didn’t fill the clear hole in her memory. She leaned forward, rubbing her eyes, with her head in her hands. She felt suddenly very tired. She dropped her hands from her face, letting them just fall into her lap. A small crinkling sound caught her attention. She pulled back the blanket that she had pushed off of her, and found a small white envelope, with paper that was a blisteringly pure white color. It would have been neatly folded and pristine, but now one corner was slightly bent. On the side nearest her was her name handwritten in beautiful script, with a deep blue ink that seemed to glimmer slightly in the faint light of the room. The envelope was sealed with wax that resembled lapis lazuli, and bore the crossed-diamonds seal of the Healy Estate. Jessica hooked her nail under the wax, breaking the seal and revealing two things: a short letter, and a check. The check was signed by Ciaran I. Healy, granted to Jessica Connery, for the sum of five-thousand dollars. The letter only bore the following message:
Your dancing was impeccable. I think we may be compatible. I will keep in touch. — C. Healy
Jessica felt a little cold, reading those words. Cold, nervous…and excited. A shiver swept down her spine. She smiled.
