Radical Revisions — Weaving some Lustful Flash Fiction into my Novel

My novel, FALLING THROUGH THE WEAVING, has been neglected of late, so here I am getting back to my major revision, revamping the characters and adding a good deal more conflict to the story.

I stopped several chapters in, last I made time for it, with my main character at a piano in a palace, under the eyes of a royal and a spy. Said royal and spy are off to share secrets, and are about to leave her alone with the piano…

And her memories.

Here’s where the flash-fiction comes in. I’m taking a short piece I wrote in my first weeks on Steemit and turning it into a flashback to give some insight into my main character’s backstory.

Thought I’d share the revised scene with you, as it stands in the novel now. As a reminder, or if you haven’t read any of my Radical Revision posts, the MC’s name is Shelta Raine, as inspired by @enginewitty’s suggestion from the secret language of the Irish Gypsies. She is a time-travelling gypsy, after all.

Since this scene involves a well-known piece of music, I’ll leave it here so you can listen while you read. Moonlight Sonata, by Beethoven (via YouTube):

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How Shelta learned to play the piano… and other things.

An excerpt from FALLING THROUGH THE WEAVING, a work in progress by Katrina Ariel.

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DAVID LEFT ME IN THE HALL, inviting me to play while he attended to his business. There I sat, hands on the keys, the vibration of the piano humming in my blood and seeping into my bones.

I did not sing, afraid to let my voice fill the unfamiliar space. The piano drew an audience, but none interrupted me, nor did they applaud. Perhaps they fell under the same spell I did as the music flowed through. I kept my gaze on the keys and pretended I belonged there.

Perhaps I did belong, to the instrument at least. It seemed to entrance me, and after a while I forgot about the onlookers, forgot even about David. And, in my forgetfulness, fell into the danger present each time I sat at a piano—Moonlight Sonata.

The masterpiece came as it always did, thick with memories and lust. Eyes closed, skin flushed, I played the first song I’d learned, seeing myself as a young woman again.

I’d found work as a maid at the house of a wealthy concert pianist in Maine. I never should have wandered the mansion after dark, but the music called to me. Mysterious. Powerful. I couldn’t help myself.

I lurked in the hall wearing only my nightgown, seduced by the song that had pulled me from my bed. Breath shallow, I inched closer.

Silence. Footsteps making the floorboards a bass drum. The door opened with a whisper of wind, and his eyes were on mine, dark and impassioned.

Did he hear my heart pounding? Had my longing knocked when my fist did not?

Smooth and low, his words tempted me into his lair, where opulence draped the walls and spread herself on the floors. The instrument had center stage, cushioned by a jewel-colored carpet fortunate enough to find itself beneath the object of his obsession.

I whispered a question. “What was it you were playing?”

“Beethoven. Moonlight Sonata. Would you like me to play it again?”

“Yes.” I should have left, but I could not. “Please.”

photo: Gabriel Gurrola/Unsplash

His fingers touched the keys. He watched me, but I retreated from his eyes and leaned into the mouth of the piano instead, offering myself to the music. It claimed my blood, took my heart as its own, residing in my ribcage.

The dark resonance built, until the song changed into a dance of shadow and light. I braved his gaze. Another mistake.

His lips twisted up. He knew what he did to me. His fingers kept moving, faster now, with urgency and need reflected beneath his rich mess of hair that shone in the light of the chandelier I’d cleaned that morning.

My feet took me closer to him, until I could see his hands flying across the keys. Such precision, such mastery. I pressed against the polished wood.

My chest felt as if it would burst, breath deep and desperate. The song came like waves, now softer, now building to a crest. When the last wave broke, and his hands came to rest on the keys, the only sound was our breathing.

“Shelta.” He spoke my name. Good Goddess, he made it a song. “Come. Sit. I’ll teach you.”

photo: MontyLov/Unsplash

I sat beside him that first night, astounding him with the speed at which I’ve always learned instruments. The next night he brought me onto his lap. He taught me Beethoven, and a great many other things. The man made love to me atop his piano.

A shame, that he had to be married. They loathed each other, so I told myself it was okay to give myself over to him like I’d given myself to the music.

His wife found us one night, after my piano practice, when he’d moved on to more lustful lessons. I cowered beneath the piano as she threw every breakable object within reach and screeched such that the walls shuddered.

Afterwards, when she’d gone roaring down the road in his Jaguar, he’d looked as broken as the shards of porcelain I’d tried to collect from the floor. I’d done that. My fault.

When I cut my finger, he sent me away, but I didn’t stay in my room. I packed a few things, headed into the forest in the dark of night, and for the first time in my life I sought a tree to take me somewhere else.

Playing the sonata's last notes brought me back. I opened my eyes and reminded myself where I was. The blue gown seemed too bright, the piano ancient compared to the one on which I’d lost my virginity. Song finished, I lifted my hands from the keys and pushed the seat back, standing on shaky legs.

It was then that I saw my audience. Mouth open, I met David’s eyes. Behind him, a crowd of people stared. I barely heard their applause.

photo: Rhett Wesley/Unsplash

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Feedback welcome.

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Deep breath.

That song really does things to me! I hope you enjoyed this little flashback scene.

I’d love to hear your feedback, if you have any. Editing is a continual process, and an outside perspective can be helpful as a writer.

It feels great to get back to this story, so I think I’ll dive into the next chapter of FALLING THROUGH THE WEAVING now.

Thanks for reading!

Peace. @katrina-ariel

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Author bio: Katrina Ariel is an old-soul rebel, musician, tree-hugging yogini, and mama bear to twins. Author of Yoga for Dragon Riders (non-fiction) and Wild Horse Heart (romance), she's another free-spirit swimming in the ocean of Steemit.

dragon art: Liiga Smilshkalne

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