The Cost Of Love

    Fate dealt her two cards in opposition : the first was fingers that could walze with strings and tango with keys. The second was bones of porcelain, dry, cracking, and undependable inside. The two took turns in making her the best, the worst and everything in between. Her power was diminished in the time when her inside would creak and make her frail. Her power escalated and took the world by surprise when the fingers took their time and danced with her canvas's of wire and ivory.
    When it was time to go on, her bones would protest and cry, aching inside her body. Her fingers would twitch in anticipation, but the knuckles would creak and make them weary. But beside her, a cello of mahogany shone a glimmered while the organ of ivory keys called to her and made her forget about the pain that would come.
    The lights dim. The curtains open and show the ebony stage, in its shining glory, holding its masterpieces of instruments on its back. The blood red backdrop held power, and infront of it was her. Silver hair shining, eyes sparkling in the low light, revellingin the feel of the woods in her pales, the string of her finger tips, the keys of her hands. It was her day, no one elses, and the world coundlt stop her form doing what she loved.
    The music played. her fingers seemed to make the cello sing, before the piano made a song made of beauty itself. Both instruments played at different time, both so wonerfully magical. Even with the bones in protest, she played, the notes in her head flowing freely, happily inside the confinds of her mind. Never did she ever feel so free, befor ethis moment, on this stage, with these people all staring at her in awe. She lifted her head, to glance around the audience when her song had finished. There were smiles, and laughter, whistles, and frowns. But one face caught her eye in the front row..
    He wasn't smiling. He didn't clap. He sat there, a look on his face of attentiveness. His eyes, the strangest shade of red she'd seen, were filled with joy, and respect. His skin was beyond pale. She smiled at the crowd, smiled at him, and he smiled back. She knew she knew him from somewhere.
    Walking off the stage, her knuckles cracking, popping and feeling weak, she sighed. The girl was happy even though the pain was searing, and felt like her bones would emblazon themselves to her skin. She sat in her chair, feeling the cool air of outside caress her skin like a lovers hand. Suddenly a shadow invaded her space and she looked to see the boy from before. His black hoodie draped over his face, as if shielding him from the light. And it was. He knelt infront of her, taking her hand and palceing his fingers over hers.
    "We are alike," He said, "You play, even though your bones are brittle, and the pain doesn't phase you for what you love,"
    She looked at him in awe, wondering how he knew of her pain. He smiled at her, and ran a hand down hi white skinned neck. "Allergic to sunlight, yet goes anywhere, just to see you perform, even at the cost of dying. I would never miss your playing for anything..." He smiled at her again, and then she knew. She knew him from her performances.
    Everywhere she played, he'd be there.  White skin under his shield of black cloth, and a smiled of bliss on his face. Somewhow he managed to knwo how her pain was. They were alike. Doing what they love, her playing music and he listening to her, even at the cost of pain.
    "You're right," She said, taking his hand. Kissing his forhead, she knew they were alike. Doing what they love, her playing music and he listening to her, even at the cost of pain.