Rose sat on a stool with her legs crossed at the ankles. The skirt of her dress pooled around her hips to the floor. She sat on the stool with her back straight, her arms lifted and bent at the elbows, holding the flute to her lips as she played a tune.
Her red hair fell across her shoulders, a few strands rested on her face but that didn't bother her. The fireplace crackled and sparked behind her. The fire gave a glow as she played the flute.
Rose's fingers moved over the holes, closing and opening to change the notes. Her head tilted left and then right as she lost herself in the music. Rose's eyes were closed as she played, memories flooding her mind. Some good, some bad.
It was easy to forget her audience, who listened with rapt attention. Rose was never one to shy away from playing. She would play the flute as often as she could, especially when there was someone to listen—and even if there wasn't, it didn't make much difference to her.
