Chapter 3 - The Broken Possession
The first chord hit the room like a physical blow.
It was a dark, haunting minor key—a sequence of notes so exquisitely mournful, so mathematically complex, that it instantly silenced the noblewoman mid-sentence. The child’s small hands transformed entirely on the keyboard, her dirty fingers moving with a fluid, supernatural precision, leaping across the ivory with breathtaking speed.
The melody rose, weaving through the high ceilings, carrying a profound sorrow that chilled the air in the warm ballroom.
Near the punch bowl, a young man in a tailored tuxedo froze. His sleek black hair was slicked back, and his dark eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing terror as the music filled his ears. His champagne glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floorboards, but he didn't even notice the spill.
He stumbled forward, shoving past aristocratic couples, his breathing ragged and erratic.
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"That melody..." the young man gasped, his voice cracking into a panicked scream as he reached the perimeter of the piano. "No! That's mine! I wrote that! Stop playing!"
He lunged toward the keys as if to slam the lid shut, but a heavy hand reached out from the crowd and clamped onto his forearm, holding him back in a vise-like grip.
