November, 1793



Her eyes were fixed upon the sheet in front of her, the candle flickering upon the perch of a nearby table. There were only forty or so measures written out with hesitant strokes. She had never thought to write a song before, but the notes almost wrote themselves, the tune drifting through her head.

It had been three days since Gil had returned. Her sleep had been interrupted by a sudden overwhelming urge to weep. Yet she had no idea why. Her menses hadn't come early like she thought they would and the cramping was done with days prior, yet she still felt like crying and her breasts still bothered her. So instead of sleeping, she had crept ftom their bed, pulling on her night rail to ward off the chill in the ballroom.

Her hands were in her lap while the ink bottle and quill had been set upon the same table within reach. Her fingers wrung as she contemplated the notes she had written, and she lifted her hand to grab the sheet.

"So stupid. Ugh..." She partially crumpled her work and then smoothed it back out in frustration. Stupid indeed.

During the night, Gilberto was woken up by the lack of a warm body against him. Olivia was gone, and that was not unexpected. Ever since he had been back, her humors have been quite odd... a thought crossed his mind, but he dismissed it as too silly.

He visited the chamber pot, washed his face and went to have a cup of sweet basil tea, just as the doctor ordered after an scrape with an ugly wound. Then he paced around the house, feeling the silence of the night.

As he drank his cup, he stumbled upon the ballroom; one of his favorite places. There, there was Olivia, in front of the pianoforte, with a piece of paper before her...

She was gorgeous, as always. The moonlight bathed her. But there she was... vulnerable. But was she... composing?

This was new. But again, he reminded himself to not to push it. So he just walked in, trying to not to be quiet to not to startle her, and asked, "...would you mind if I saw?"

She heard him enter, but wasn't surprised. Olive sighed when asked to show her work, "It is just sonething silly..." She handed the poor, wrinkled parchment to him and placed her hands back into her lap. "I am no composer, its just... Something from in my head."

Her eyes finally lifted to meet his and she said, "Throw in into the fire, it really is just something I thought I would be able to convey..."

At her comment, he chuckled a bit, then looked her with amusement, "You sound just like Paolino. He does the same when he's pissed", then he took the crumbled paper and began to read, and to softly hum the tune as he paced, only interrupting it to have a sip of tea.

He was genuinely surprised. He realized that she was not a novice - no novice would do something like this. It was not masterful, but it came close.

He turned to her and smiled when he was done, "It's... good. Really good", and with calculated steps, he put the notation on the pianoforte, in front of her, "Could you... play it? For me?"

She didn’t look at him; no, couldn’t, for her throat started to close in anxiety. But he wasn’t a whole crowd, nor was he her father. Olive lifted her hands, poised over the keys, trembling. “I…” There was no doubt that she wasn’t doing this on purpose. If Paolo had walked in on her before she had started to play, he would have been met with the same sorry sight of her fear.

Her hands were brought down, but the notes were sour, she pulled back like she’d been burned and covered her face. “I am sorry!” she said this automatically, for it had been conditioned into her to be apologetic with her mistakes in training to be a lady. It was then that she looked at him, a plea in her eyes, not for him to leave the room, but for help. She didn’t want to feel this way every time she played in front of those close to her…

Gilberto wasn't angry, or sad, or at least he didn't showed he was. His face was understanding, and his voice reassuring, "You don't have to do it if you don't want to...", and he meant it.

She seemed scared, frustrated... That wouldn't do. He came to behind her and began to rub her back with his hands, then her shoulders, neck and the he softky caressed her arms, "I'm with you, amore... you have nothing to fear..."

Her eyes closed when his form moved behind her and gave her warmth. Her hands poised again over the keys, she drew from him some strength. After hesitating for a few more moments, her fingers moved gently over the keys. The first notes were soft, her shaking ebbed and her fingers were more sure. Soon, she began to rock and sway as she... lived and breathed the music she had written. It was only a few minutes of music, but her playing made the song, as apposed to the song being a masterpiece on it's own.

When the last notes resounded, she pulled back again and leaned into him. "It's... not finished... As if I was going to show it to anyone. I haven't... done this before. I am not a composer." Her voice still shook despite her comfort with him.

She played when he gave her comfort, and it was beautiful. Her fingers caressed the ebony and ivory as if she was touching him, and he smiled with true happyness. All the while, he caressed her body, and kissed her skin, as if to say "I have your back".

When that beautiful, masterful show was done, he hugged her from back, pressing her body against his own, "It was perfect. I absolutely loved it...", then he planted kiss after kiss on her face. She should have know that he was happy and proud of her.

"I'll have to ask you not to... Not to um... show it to anyone. Promise or I will burn it." Her words were serious, but he'd know she wouldn't burn it not matter how many times she crumpled it. She really would keep her talent from the world, wouldn't she? That included her music, something deeply personal and born of darkness. Yet she had this feeling that he was still of a mind to show Paolo or one of his musician friends. In all honesty, not that she thought of this, the song was too beautiful not to share with others.

She leaned into his touch though, feeling herself relax against him. Olivia didn't want the praise he lauded her with though, she could still feel the way her belly fluttered in trepidation. But it did shock her that he could give her courage so easily, just by standing behind her and comforting her. She swallowed heavily, suddenly feeling her fatigue from the children she didn't know she was growing within herself.

"I haven't been feeling well, Gilberto. I thought I was starting... well... my time, but I thought wrong. But I am still tired and I still ache." She sounded concerned and completely oblivious to the mostly subtle signs of her condition that plagued her. "Take me to bed, please..."

He nodded at her, "I promise. This will not leave this room", thankfully the servants were asleep. Surely rumors of their debauchery were known, but the thing is that neither of them cared. But this was something more intimate to her... it would have to remain secret. The thought of playing her music crossed his mind, but it wouldn't be correct. Baby steps.

"It's surely nothing...", he reassured, "Perhaps its the stress? But do not worry. It will come soon", he nodded. He wasn't a man that was bothered by moonblood, why would he? Yet he suspected it; he haf seen it many times before. But he shook his head... it surely wasn't it.

Once again, Gilberto picked her up and carried her out of the ballroom, over the stairs and to the bed of their room. He took off his tunic, shivering a bit by the chill, and lied down besides her.