5
Théâtre Bohème, 2 December 1870
Johann sat in the pit and tuned his violin. Sometimes when he played, it felt like part of him, and other times it seemed a creature with its own mind that required cajoling and gentle handling. And rarely it seemed to hold a tempest, and he had to grasp the bow with even more care lest it slip away from him in the middle of a passage.
Today feels like a tempest day, or perhaps that’s how I feel.
Sometimes he was happy for Edward’s preoccupation. Johann felt his friend was the only one who had truly forgiven him for his role in the airship crash in spite of being the one most hurt by it.
He made the tuning note a long and plaintive one. The tone hung in the air, but when he lifted his bow, a new sound floated to his ears.
“Marie?” The name was asked
