A faint smile touched Anastasia's lips, a subtle indication of her acquiescence. She recognized the genuine warmth in Benny and Hope's voices, and she couldn't deny the appeal of having a familiar face nearby. Besides, it would undoubtedly prove useful to have a secure base of operations while she investigated the recent developments regarding her own tracking.
"Very well," she conceded, her voice smooth and melodic.
"I will accept your hospitality."
The Lerays visibly relaxed, their faces radiating relief and pleasure. Mrs. Leroy bustled about, issuing instructions to the servants to prepare the guest room. Mr. Leroy, meanwhile, steered the conversation towards lighter topics – discussing local attractions and recommending restaurants.
Anastasia listened politely, offering occasional responses but largely remaining an observer.
Late that afternoon Hope was practicing her lute. The melody of Hope's lute drifted through the air, a delicate and melancholic tune that resonated with a surprising depth of emotion. Anastasia found herself drawn to the music, her attention momentarily diverted from her own concerns.
As Hope played, a cascade of memories flooded her mind – vivid images from a past life, centuries ago. She recalled a time when she was known as the Masked Lute Princess, a renowned musician whose compositions were celebrated throughout the land. Her music had been imbued with magic, capable of soothing troubled hearts and inspiring acts of courage. Legends spoke of her ability to weave spells into her melodies, enchanting audiences with her ethereal performances.
The song Hope was playing—a wistful ballad filled with longing and regret—was strikingly similar to one she'd composed during a drunken revelry in the 12th century.
A faint smile touched Anastasia's lips as she recognized the familiar melody. It was a peculiar coincidence, to say the least. A drunken composition from a forgotten era, somehow resurrected and reimagined by a young woman in modernday France. The universe, she mused, had a strange sense of humor.
She leaned forward slightly, her violet eyes fixed on Hope's hands as they danced across the strings of the lute. There was a raw vulnerability in Hope's playing, a depth of emotion that belied her youthful appearance. It was clear that this song held a special significance for her—a reflection of her own hopes and fears.
"Your music is… evocative," Anastasia said softly, breaking her silence.
"It speaks of loss and longing, but also of resilience."
Hope stopped playing abruptly, startled by Anastasia's unexpected compliment. Anastasia grabbed the lute and played the song that Hope was trying to play.
Hope was memorized.
"Do you play Lute?" Hope asked.
"Mmm no just play it for fun."
Hope's surprise was palpable, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Anastasia's fingers moved across the lute's strings with an effortless grace, coaxing out the melody with a precision and artistry that belied her claim of simply playing "for fun." The music flowed from her like a river, imbued with a depth of emotion that resonated far beyond the simple notes.
As she played, the room seemed to shimmer with an ethereal light. The air grew thick with the scent of ancient forests and forgotten empires. For a fleeting moment, Anastasia was transported back to that past life – to the glittering courts and bustling marketplaces of a bygone era.
When she finished, silence descended upon the room, broken only by Hope's hushed breath.
"Do you like this composer?" Anastasia asked casually, attempting to downplay the extraordinary display she had just performed.
Hope's voice was barely a whisper.
"Yeah... in the music history books, it speaks of the Masked Lute Princess. It said her music was so beautiful that even the gods and goddesses would shed tears."
A faint blush crept up Hope's cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and admiration. She had never encountered anyone who possessed such a profound understanding of music – let alone someone who could play it with such breathtaking skill.
Anastasia observed her with a detached curiosity, her violet eyes unreadable. The coincidence was becoming increasingly unsettling. How could a song from her past life, a composition she had long forgotten, find its way into the hands of a young woman in modernday France? It defied logic and reason.
"The stories are…exaggerated," Anastasia said dismissively, she didn't care about her past achievements and how she had created history. But she decided to help Hope as she taught her the write away to play and make the music sound so beautiful and soulful.
Anastasia's casual dismissal of the legends surrounding the Masked Lute Princess was a deliberate attempt to deflect attention from herself. The idea of being revered as a divine musician was absurd, and she had no desire to draw further scrutiny to her already complicated existence.
However, she couldn't deny the genuine passion in Hope's eyes, the unbridled enthusiasm for music that resonated with a part of her that she had long suppressed. It reminded her of a time when she had allowed herself to embrace beauty and artistry, before the weight of her responsibilities had forced her to prioritize practicality and efficiency.
"The stories are…exaggerated," she repeated, her voice softening slightly.
"But the music itself... possesses a certain power." She paused, then turned to Hope with a newfound resolve.
"I will teach you."
And so, the afternoon dissolved into a lesson in music. Anastasia, with a patience she rarely displayed, guided Hope's fingers across the lute's strings, correcting her posture, refining her technique, and imparting the secrets of phrasing and expression. She drew upon centuries of accumulated knowledge and experience, sharing the nuances of musical interpretation that had made the Masked Lute Princess so legendary.
Hope absorbed her instruction with an eagerness that was both endearing and inspiring. She listened intently to Anastasia's every word, her eyes shining with a newfound understanding. Slowly but surely, her playing improved – the raw vulnerability giving way to a blossoming confidence and artistry.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, Hope played a version of the melancholic ballad that had initially captivated Anastasia's attention.
The transformation in Hope's playing was remarkable. What had begun as a hesitant and uncertain performance had evolved into a captivating rendition of the melancholic ballad. The raw emotion remained, but it was now tempered with a newfound control and artistry – a testament to Anastasia's patient guidance and Hope's own innate talent.
As the last notes faded into the twilight, Anastasia felt a flicker of something akin to satisfaction. She rarely allowed herself to indulge in such sentimental feelings, but witnessing Hope's progress had stirred a longdormant part of her soul.
"You have a natural gift," she said softly, breaking her silence.
"With dedication and practice, you could become truly extraordinary."
Anastasia then excused herself, claiming exhaustion from the previous day's travels. She retreated to her guest room, seeking the solace of sleep to replenish her depleted energy reserves.