Reach PV - Corrine Aelina

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WC: 837
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Cirrus felt a chill run up her spine. Surprisingly, not from the cold, but from this vague feeling like she was being watched. Not how she feels when the owls perched in the trees watch her when she walks past them, but more like how she feels when her mother plops her down at the piano in front of her aunties and uncles and has her play a piece she's been practicing recently. Like how she feels when something she thought was meant only for herself was suddenly on display for all to see, where something crossed the threshold between observation and perception. Like something saw through her opaqueness as if she were transparent. Still, she felt it incumbent upon herself to finish the song, she wouldn't halt her tribute for something so inane. It was probably just the cold. If anything, it kept her awake, more aware of the chords she was playing as her deft fingers moved swiftly across the fingerboard and the words were exhaled into the still air.

"How long we've been trying to reach you, we all fall down sometimes trying to reach you, I'm trying..."

Cirrus' breath clouded before her face as the final words of the song escaped her lips, her fingertips aching pleasantly where the cold strings had bitten into them, stiffened and pink. The mild discomfort reminded her that she was still here, so she made no move to warm them just yet. She had a pair of gloves in her pocket, just in case, and it is there that they will remain. She gave her guitar a final aimless strum that dissolved into the quiet of the lake that her eyes now glaze over, watching the pale morning light fracture beautifully across its surface. The sound of the final chord lingered like how light streaks do behind your eyelids when you've accidentally glanced directly at the sun.

As she laid her guitar to rest at her side atop its open case, Cirrus briefly wondered if her brother was awake at this moment. It was far earlier than any time he'd ever woken up before - if it were up to him, he'd sleep into the afternoon everyday - but she couldn't help wondering if he was as restless as she was being so far from home, from each other. They'd never been separated this far since their birth, they'd always done everything together. And maybe her physical absence was enough to finally disrupt his hibernation-like sleep schedule, just as it had hers. They were so far, yet somewhere beyond this lake, he had to exist in the same hour swallowed under the same sun, and in that sense, they were still close. They still coexisted on the same physical plain and nothing in the world could defy that.

Cirrus sighed softly to herself at the thought, seeming solemnly content. Then came the faint crunch of snow. Subtle and hesitant, not alarming, but enough to disturb the familiar silence she'd been basking in since the early hours of the morning. She had always possessed an ear for quieter things; ghost notes buried beneath every other sound amidst a song, fingers accidentally brushing against the wrong string when playing, the near inaudible breath singers took in between each line. The little things that made music seem alive and not manufactured. But the careful compression of snow beneath someone's shoe was considerably loud in comparison.

For a fleeting moment, Cirrus was convinced that her song had somehow summoned Ezran from the muggle realm, that the footsteps came from the one person whom she missed so violently. She never thought it was possible to miss a person so much, especially when every complaint she'd ever thrown into the air was about him, like when his half of their shared bedroom that smelled so distinctly of boy bled into her half no matter how hard she tried to keep it organised. "Stop fighting", their father would grumble at them over his hundredth coffee for the day, not understanding that they never fought with each other. Those who get on your nerves the most are the same whom you hold prisoner of your love. She could almost hear him now, playfully telling her to get inside before she freezes her fingers off. She wanted to turn back and check, just to make sure. But no, it wasn't him- logically, it could not be Ezran.

Now, she was certain that someone - a stranger - had been watching her in this private moment (although, is it really a private moment if you are in a public space?).

Cirrus moved with measured caution, slotting her guitar back into its case and shutting it up as quickly and silently as she could before whoever was watching her could see the messenger of her soul, if they hadn't already. She pressed her back against the large rock once more, keeping her gaze trained towards the lake as she spoke.

"You know... spying on people is kinda creepy."

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Cirrus didn't respond immediately. Not because she hadn't heard the other person's words, she definitely had, and that was the problem. It was absolute confirmation that she had indeed been watched, and it was slightly unsettling. Just slightly, all up until she heard how panicked the other girl seemed. Perhaps she shouldn't have used the word creepy...

The apology hung awkwardly in the air around them with a sincerity that was uncertain of where to place itself and she exhaled softly out of her nose, still staring off at the lake in front of her as though it would offer her a better answer than the girl behind her. Cirrus debated pretending to not have heard her properly. But she didn't. Because, for once, she seems to have found someone who is just as awkward as her when it comes to social interaction. Perhaps even more. And she thinks maybe she was a little too direct, unjustifiably so. She really shouldn't have called her creepy. But Cirrus' instinct in this case wasn't to apologise, she didn't know what to do with the other person's panic. Instead, the snow crunched beneath her weight as she slowly moved to peak over the rock, searching for her witness.

"You didn't have to do all of that." Cirrus stated as she met the girl's eyes, not harsh or direct like she was earlier. Just uncertain, confused, about why the girl reacted as though she'd done something worthy of scorn. She was standing there as though she'd just been caught doing something illegal. But last time she checked, there was nothing criminal about listening to a song. If it was, Cirrus just might not find this world worth living in.

The other girl was fidgeting with her robes as though they were warring between apology and impending self-destruction and Cirrus took that in quietly, as though trying to determine which it was that would be the outcome. And then the compliment lingered for a second, it landed strangely with her. Pretty. Cirrus found an abundance of beauty in music, putting adjectives to lyrics that others didn't quite understand. She thought many songs to be pretty. But to hear it from someone else whom she was sure to be divergent of herself was, in a way, uncanny to her. But she suddenly felt less horrified of being caught playing, sensing that this girl didn't seek to criticise her. She probably couldn't hurt a fly. They were both scared, just in vastly different ways. And Cirrus blinked slowly as though her suspicions of the compliment were fizzling away with uncertainty. "It's just a song, really..."

She instantly decided she didn't like what she had said. It was so much more than a song to her. But she was not about to tell that to a stranger, it's bad enough that she had been caught. She should want to shrivel up and hide, but something in her felt more compelled to ease the panic of the other girl more than preserve herself. Purely because she seemed to be in a worse place than Cirrus. "Look... I only meant that you don't have to hide to listen to music, that's... a bit much." She just sounded confused more than anything when she spoke, no judgement in her tone. Most people who watched her play made no effort to hide their witness, nor their comments. This girl, however, looks to her as though she regrets every moment of the past few minutes of her life. It was strange, Cirrus thought. The girl had no reason to be fearful, Cirrus didn't think she was coming off as intimidating. She hoped not, at least. For the most part, she wants people to be reluctant to speak to her because they find her to be uninteresting, not scary. Although, she thinks this girl probably finds an innumerable of things to be daunting.

"And I wasn't performing it or anything." Cirrus said as her hand traced the outline of her guitar case, seeking to ground herself in this moment with the familiarity of it. Or debating to take it out again. "...So, you can listen to it normally. If you'd so desire...?"