Masquerading Virtuoso【Tokyo Ghoul Fan-Fiction】

viii. Etude

"She is a puppet of her own crippling desires; each gesture guiding her to a bout of mad intentions."

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Tsuki silently ascended the few steps leading to the stage, illuminated only by a single overcast spotlight. At the center of it sat a black Steinway & Sons piano, the glossy veil already lifted, exposing the monochromatic keys. The young brunette was garnished in a long, velvety champagne gown and silver two-inch heels. Before she took her seat, she ardently smiled and bowed to the audience anxiously awaiting her performance in the darkness.

Sitting down on the stuffed leather cushion of the ebony stool, Tsuki raised her hands above the keys and closed her eyes. A composition I hold dear, she thought, as she guided her left hand west to the first chord's position, then elegantly ordered her right hand a short distance east of the middle. She suddenly pressed down on the few series of keys, her fingers slowly tracing along each. With a short pause, she raised her hands slightly above the piano, then entranced herself within the aggressive tune.

The Etude, Opus 25, Number 11 ... Fryderyk Chopin.

For the first minute, everything was smooth, the notes flowing like wheat in a gentle breeze, though, it quickly changed for the worse when she opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of the crowd standing to their feet. She had looked away for a moment, only for her hands to suddenly slip against a warm liquid; her performance had yet to end, so there was no purpose in a rude, premature applause.

As her chocolate eyes drifted from the crowd and back to the task at hand, they caught sight of a bright crimson fluid tainting the pure keys. She hesitated, her mind running amok with confusion by the drainage of blood from the lifeless creation. Attempting to keep track of the etude, she continued playing, ignoring the slick surface.

Her heart suddenly pounded roughly against her ribs and the sounds reverberating from the piano ceased, changing into more of a muffled rumble. She panicked, kicking back her stool and fumbling to her feet.

The crowd pointed and gasped in fear, some releasing terrified screams as she turned to face them. Her champagne gown had been corrupted---transforming into a deep merlot color. Tsuki's eyes had underwent an abrupt metamorphosis: the white sclera had been gnawed away by a ferocious poisonous black and the brown irises had been dyed a vibrant, monstrous red.

She stood before the horrified audience, whom, less than two minutes prior had silently adored her skills.

Unwillingly, her rinkaku sprung free of its confinement in her lower back, tearing her expensively made dress. The three appendages flared sharply towards the many people frantically rushing to the exits, only to be stopped by flames rapidly eating their way after them. Tsuki's legs seemingly froze in their place---she was unable to move from the stage to help any of the civilians staring in fear between she and the burning room.

As if the fire had grown legs, it sprung in sparks from the doors to the rows of seats ... then to the people. Tsuki's nose burned from the horrendous aroma emitting off the roasting people, her wide, petrified eyes lined with tears trapped in their ducts. Her rinkaku unexpectedly lurched towards the crowd and swept those growing closer to Tsuki to the carpeted ground, allowing the flames to nip and tear away at their flesh.