The rich warm music flowed around Malou, the tones floating into the parlor as her fingers danced along the keys of the piano, years of practice coming back to her. It wasn't often that Malou got play piano now, but she had sat on the bench of the piano when she was still a small girl and diligently learned. Her mother had added harp to her lessons a few years later, but Malou had never felt the same connection to it that she did with the piano. Whenever she saw the one sitting in Mrs. Bagshot's parlor her fingers ached to play it, to wash the world away with music. Her godmother understood and often when Malou was persuaded to join the Bagshots for a social gathering, be it tea or supper, Mrs. Bagshot often suggested Malou play piano for their guests, allowing Malou to indulge in the music she so loved, but also allowing her a repreive from social nicities she always found so difficult.

As she played she forgot the world around her, forgot the grueling schedule of the week, that her rare Saturday off saw Fallon out of the apartment, forgot that the days that lingered between her and moving out of the flat were quickly dwindling. Indeed, she was so focused on the music she didn't even hear the butler announce a guest, until after that voice spoke. She knew that voice. Malou's fingers stilled as her heart seemed to grow faster, she turned to Mr. Prewett with an owl like blink, entirely unsure what he had said or what she should say.

Faustus Prewett