After a stop at a cafe for hot chocolate, Claire and Kage found refuge on a wooden bench cleared of snow. Their time together was quiet but knowing of the other. Their whispered talks began divulging secrets shared only with themselves.
In a second fit of bravery, Kage vigorously rubbed his face with his gloves, smearing away the cream that hid the burns. A clear contrast occurred as the frosted flakes highlighted the severity of the inflamed skin. The corner of his eye awaited the remake of disgust and discomfort, but none came. Instead, Claire once again took his face in her hands. Not a word followed but the silence created comfortable exhaling.
In return she showed her own symbol of pain. A wetted cloth picketed by daisies gently dabbed at the side to her cheek dissipating the caked-on makeup. The purpose substantial as not a trace remained of the jagged wound crossing from her left temple to below her eye across the dent to her upper lip and resting in the corner of the right side of her lip.
Faintly, Kage could recall her speaking of an adoption, how her parents stayed beggars that left her for a couple bills. At the orphanage she experienced constant torment from the other kids. Unruly and brutal they were with no supervision in place. One day a child gave her that scar with the end of a broken glass bottle. Yet, even amongst her story, his attention sought solely the scar. It was gruesome with the edge of the pointed tip shone even after the decade that passed.
'There's no reason to be embarrassed by this scar. It's a sign of bravery, of survival.'
Kage held her hand throughout the story listening without a word to interrupt just as she had done for him. It wasn't his time to speak or relate. When she ended, he told his own story only to end it with the fire. The element of Unity never broke through for him. It confused him but something in perhaps the depths of his consciousness rejected the thought. Despite the inconsistency, he continued to tell of his father's abandonment toward Lisa and him. They were sent to an orphanage much like Claire's, but Kage made sure to take the beatings rather than let Lisa suffer from them. Not long had passed before they got a new guardian, a Christian priest that went by Father Bentley.
Not too many religious groups were around in this age. The declining attendance and members of faith found them on the verge of collapse with the Vatican nearly bare of resources and surely not the funds to finance small Churches like the one Father Bentley managed.
While they talked, the two found themselves, without knowing, walking down a familiar path. One Kage used to take all the time on his way from the academy. During the summer and fall seasons it would be lined with markets, eateries, and stands serving a diverse series of people advertising their goods. In winter the street was downtrodden with shriveled up weeds sprouting out from the gaps in the pavement.
When they rounded the corner, Kage remembered where they had arrived. The lights exploded out through the stained-glass windows that depicted Jesus and his sacrifice standing side by side with his virgin mother Mary only to have the shine of God looking from yonder. Two spires rose out to the left and right on top of the Cathedral with the tops pointed in the shape of a cross. A classic rose window was emblazoned in front just above the lancets covered by moss decorating well-weathered stone. The place would seem abandoned if not for the candles that lit up from the inside or the music that would occasionally play through a gramophone that sat in the lounge.
Kage found himself already passing by the double-doors within the grand hall gliding over the rows of pews. With the weather and time of day no one was here, not even the Father. He ran a finger along the arm rests swiping bunches of nothing due to their well-kempt state.
But none of these sights or glamor was what drew Kage further onto the stage. What lay before the hall was a singular piano set. The left leg broke some time before Kage had first entered this building, so to make up for the injury they stuffed a pile of books to maintain its balance. His fingers danced along the top of the sleek black piano softly drumming a tune in his mind. Lifting the cover to the keys he prepared for the grime and dirt that must have collected in its absence of play but found none.
For some odd reason the keys were perfectly cleaned as if they were readying themselves to be played by their master once again.
"Are you going to play something?" She had come up behind tapping his shoulder to the same tune. Kage felt a pit in his stomach. He had only played to an audience or alongside someone else. There was no fun to be had playing alone because that was for practice but together was for an experience. It was for a connection.
"I'll do so if you dance." Kage suggested with the briefest of rumors suggesting that she had taken part in countless tournaments.
Blushing, Claire whipped back her hair tying it together in a ponytail, "I apologize for being rusty, Hopefully I don't slow your pace."
"Same here." Kage sat in his spot gloating with the audible squeak from the chair. The noise almost sounded like a "welcome home" to him. He cracked his fingers relaxing the tips on the first keys. He had not played in a year but knew what song he must play. It was the humming he would always hear from Lisa in the morning while she showered then dressed. She sang with such delight and mimed words she imagined went with this theme both melancholy and jovial. Melancholy in the leagues of work and tiresome days the composer gave to completing such a masterpiece. The mounting stress, the deadlines that must be met, and finally the conduction and playing of this piece that could end in utter disaster and failure. Then the joy of success that accompanies a hope to succeed.
As much as this was Lisa's song it was one that Kage loved even more.