Drip drip. Drip drip.
That’s what I fell asleep to every night, and woke up to every morning. The constant, blasted, sound of water hitting the ground. The only way I ever seemed to rid of it was when I played my music. My music would fill every crack and crevice in my dark, mysterious cave with it’s lonely sound.
I had ways to get light, like the ancient candles that stood next to my organ just waiting to be lit, but I hardly used it. I also liked when I had to feel my fingers across the keys of my organ to play. For some reason, the way I could make beautiful music without the deception of sight made me feel slightly comforted.
How long I had been in that I cave, I do not know. How far down it went, I do not know. All I do know is this was my closest thing to home. I would go up to the opera house occasionally to look for the one to carry out my music, but I haven’t found them yet.
I dread the opera house, it hurts to see all the people so happy and cheerful when I have to be eternally alone in the depths of my lair.
But then I heard her.