1. You stand in the dark, alone, the door slams shut behind you. How could you misplay that simple note! The violin was ripped from your hands immediately and you were thrown back here. Now there is not even that night of reprieve from the silence. Even as you succumb and cry, cry for hours, there is no sound, nothing but the dull ringing of your ears.
2. The door opens. You look up, desperate like an animal who thinks it is about to be slaughtered. How long has it been? Months? Years? He gestures for you to follow, and you do, barely remembering how to walk. The violin in your hands feels clumsy, you wrap your hands around it awkwardly. Remembering the time you misplayed you carefully strike the bow across the violin, and you play….
3. Your hands are bleeding, but you cannot stop, this is the most important song you’ve ever played. Every touch is agony, reopening wounds that seem to be healing too fast. Even with this fae magic you’re still ripping your hands open and the violin is drenched in blood. Somehow it still plays, it is still in tune. Somehow it is still making this beautiful sound.
4. The crowd before you claps. They all step aside from you, allowing you to go home. You’ll never be able to play that music again, you’ll never be quite as good. But you’ll never go home.