A story I wrote. Not too great, but it's a theme that was on my mind.

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The muffled murmurs of the audience apologetically crept through the thick stage door. She glanced at the small TV that showed their indistinguishable mass in black and white. Another packed house; the sight of it always made her mind spin. It was a marvel that so many would deem her voice worth sitting in those seats and being uncomfortable for. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t put herself through the torment for a second. But it wasn’t her choice.

As she patted her soft neck feathers to calm herself down, the lights in the concert hall dimmed. The murmurs quieted and an expectant tension pervaded the audience. After a potent pause, the stage door opened automatically; a rush of air flew into the passage, ruffling her feathers and her long, slim dress. With a deep breath, she collected herself and strode onto the stage.

It was empty, save for a grand piano placed slightly back of center stage. She nestled herself in the nook of it and looked down, thinking back to the first time she had graced a stage.

It had been a smaller stage. Wooden, definitely not as well kept as others. There were cracks and indentations in the wood, harsh reminders of the many performances that hadn’t been gentle with it. The swan remembered her timid steps, trembling in her uncomfortable heels bought specially for the occasion. They were a hindrance more than a help. Her stick-like legs could barely support her as it was. Somehow she made it to the center of the stage and planted her feet, careful to avoid any cracks.

Before she was ready, the piano launched into the first aria. She had practiced for this moment her whole life, singing as sweetly as she could into a mirror with her eyes closed. She couldn’t watch herself while she heard what was coming out of her mouth. The reflection had never matched up with what she heard, strangely. It was better to close her eyes. Which she did there on stage.

The entire performance was a blur. The audience politely clapped at the end. She wobbled off the stage and they had a small party. There were only ten people there; more than she had expected. More performances and recitals followed. Eventually people paid to hear her sing. And she had gone with the charade the entire time, letting herself be pushed from stage to stage singing whatever she was told to. The wind blew and her light body had no choice but to drift along, prisoner to its whims.

And now she was here. Nestled in the nook of another piano, finding slight comfort in its alluring presence. The spotlights illuminated the front of the stage and she obediently stepped there. They had learned long before that her white feathers demanded a soft, slightly yellow light. Anything else reflected too harshly off her sleek sheen. The warm glow calmed her. Long used to this feeling, she closed her black eyes and launched into the first aria.

Her enthusiastic croaking filled the auditorium. It didn’t phase her as much anymore. Every note was perfect; her expression, pristine. Everything about her was serene. Except her voice. Rolling through every run like she was haphazardly tumbling down a hill. She knew she would get to the bottom every time but the journey was filled with bumps and jumps. And every single time not a feather got out of place. Her crown remained untouched and her long neck stayed slender. After every piece, no matter how much she hated to hear herself, she stood calmly on stage with her wings slightly poised, as if bracing herself against the ridicule that was sure to be thrown at her. But it never came and she always launched into the next piece.

This one was more technical; she loved the difficult pieces. Compositions with notes cascading on top of each other, leaping from one to the other. They were meant to challenge singers. Which she loved. They were perfect for her meticulous nature. She spent hours every day poring over the notes, practicing every jump and change; stringing notes together and giving them meaning beyond the words. She fancied herself an artist. Which everyone agreed she was.

If only her voice wouldn’t get in the way. At least her croaks were somewhat masked by the spectacular runs and arpeggiated lines, difficult for even the most accomplished singers. She could enjoy the dedication and care that she put into every note rather than worry about the disgusting sounds that came from her throat. It had gotten to the point where she didn’t have to worry about getting it right. It felt natural, like a beautiful mansion built into the side of a waterfall. As note after note floated away from her beak becoming part of the organized chaos of the waterfall, she gave them shape. With her help, every sound became part of a whole, a fantastic construction that only existed for as long as the reverberations filled the room. Line upon line of meaningless machinations from a madman were transformed into bricks and mortar, an architecture of sound. And she was the force behind it all.

Soon, the last note faded and the mansion became an all too distant memory, only existing in the minds of those who had heard it. There would never be anything exactly like it again. Which was enticing for her, knowing that her performance could only exist in the minds of those lucky enough to be in the audience. Recordings were never allowed. That was her one rule. She was certain that electronics would somehow show the true nature of her voice. Thus her audiences would always have to rely on their faulty memories to hear her coarse tones. Or attend another performance. That was part of how she stayed relevant and in control of her destiny. Alongside her dedication and apparent skill, of course.

She tried to relax her skinny legs throughout the performance. The long flowing hem of her dark purple, nearly black, dress did well to hide their shaking. The dress itself was made of a rich fabric; it’s texture had this indescribable feeling: like quicksilver that flowed down her gentle curves. She loved it. Even though it felt too good for her, she enjoyed the feeling of liquid on her feathers. Like she was swimming effortlessly down a stream. It was absolutely perfect for her last set as she gave herself over to the music, losing all control and going back to her roots.

The prompting line from the piano broke her from her reveries and she obediently responded, falling under its inviting spell. This pianist was quite special. Most could only play the piano like robots; this one had mastered her craft. Her paws flowed expertly over the keys, massaging notes out of them, shaping them like a potter works with clay. This one was not a slave to the beast; she had tamed it. Ariella longed for such freedom.

The call from the piano nearly gave it to her. Her mind retreated and instinct took over. She no longer had any worries about how she looked or sounded. The only thing that mattered was life itself. And love. The love for life. Her vocal cords intertwined with the piano wire, a mixture of natural and unnatural sources blending together to create. To create what? It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. She didn’t have the capacity for that. All she existed for in this moment was to join in a lover’s embrace with the piano, melding to become two halves of one heart. She helplessly croaked and warbled, devolving into sounds with no meaning. She would later wonder how anyone could find enjoyment in that mess.

For now, the duo rose and fell, a pair eternally joined. At some points they parted briefly, one following the other. At other times she flew above the piano effortlessly soaring on her own path as the piano sailed beneath her, a perfect reflection of her movements. Sometimes it rebelled, adding little ornaments or imperfections to her flight. Still it remained a flawless complement to her natural melodies. The two melded and seemingly danced around the stage. Their dance covered every inch of it. Several times she precariously dipped off of the precipice only to be brought back by the stabilizing forces of the piano. Its low bass kept her secure, tethered to reality with thickly wrapped piano cord.

Her wistful primal melody permeated the auditorium, casting a hypnotic spell over the audience. Entranced, they could not make a sound. Any kind of movement was stifled as they couldn’t help but lose themselves in the music as well. They too were caught up in the twirling notes of piano and swan. All of them were along for the ride, flying with each leap the two took together. In those moments, everyone could be a swan. And a lover. All of the worries of their lives melted away and all that was left was the joy of life. This was why they listened.

The notes quieted and the spell was lifted. The audience blinked, surprised to find themselves back in their bodies. They felt unclean, strange with their long limbs and short necks. Their lack of feathers seemed devastating to them in this moment. As if there was a being in the world they could aspire to be more like but never fully attain. If only they knew the darkness Ariella nurtured inside her.

As if on cue, the spotlight on stage darkened and Ariella took the audience’s stunned silence as an opportunity to exit the stage. This was her custom. The audience collected themselves and the stage door opened to their thunderous applause. She strode once more to the now familiar spot at center stage and accepted her tumultuous praise with a graceful bow. She took one wing and draped it across her front; her dress shimmered with her slight movements and created a final spectacle for the audience.

They were all standing; an ovation which she was used to at this point. Ariella wondered how long this one would go for. She lost herself in daydreams sometimes during this, letting autopilot take over; she bowed again and again as she pondered how anyone could feel this way after what was surely a terrible performance. Was it all some big scheme to torture her? Tease her into letting her guard down and think that maybe her voice was good? Was it all one big joke? Would someone pop out and tell it was all a prank? It wouldn’t bother her. She had long entertained that possibility. Any of that coming to fruition would be of no surprise to her. For now, she received her applause with humble poise.

There was one that caught her eye. Someone in the audience was sitting, not clapping at all. This interested her. Was something wrong? What made this one person different? His dark face was blank. Nearly as expressionless as hers now was. She lowered her gaze once more into her bow, still wondering as to what this one’s story was. The telltale signs of the clapping losing its enthusiasm appeared and she exited the stage. Always leave them wanting more.

There was a small reception to be held after the performance. She kept everyone waiting for some time before finally making an appearance before them. Instantly she was surrounded by admirers and fans. She graced them with kind words and acknowledgement. Some of them were old faces. She prided herself on remembering all of their names. Some of them were new. She memorized their faces and associated them with names for future meetings. To be honest, it was a little tiring to go through this after the stress of her performance but she knew that it was important. Part of her duties as a highly sought after singing swan.

That creature was off to the side leaning against a wall lazily. The one who hadn’t clapped. She got a better look at him now. His face was tan and vulpine in shape. His ears stood erect on his head but that did little to change her perception of his small stature. She was easily half a neck taller than him. He was staring at her. Watching. But his expression wasn’t devilish or devious, much as you’d expect from a fox. No, he was...curious? Almost watching her in amusement, surrounded by would-be suitors (if they had the chance), unable to escape. She gathered the feeling that he enjoyed a freedom she had long lost. It made her jealous for just a moment before she continued to wonder what made him different. Why he alone could see through her facade?

Eventually everyone drifted away from her and she was allowed to relax a little. She noticed he was still there. Still leaning against the wall. Still looking at her with the amused expression. Patiently waiting for his pull to eventually bring her his way. She thought for a moment to fight his efforts; she knew, however, that this would increase his mirth and make her look more foolish when she inevitably was unable to stay away. Giving in to her curiosity, she journeyed towards him.

He watched her the whole way over. His expression never wavered nor changed; his subtle mirth continued to evaluate her while she crossed the room. She was interrupted several times in her pursuit by those who had failed to catch her earlier. She made quick and efficient work of them, now growing slightly impatient in her pursuit. Finally she made it to the fox. He didn’t say anything, continuing to stare at her, his eyes silently laughing. So she was expected to make the first move.

“Your name?” Her surprisingly silky voice came out gentle but strong. Clearly a surprise to him as he raised his bushy eyebrows.

“Rensseur,” he said, an equally short reply. His yellow eyes bored into her as his curiosity about her intrigue grew..

“Rensseur, yes.” This was not a face she would be forgetting any time soon, perhaps at all. “Did you enjoy the performance?” That was the question at the forefront of her mind.

“Frankly, no. I didn’t.” Still examining her, the fox’s voice betrayed none of his thoughts and was as cool as one would expect from a beast known for its cunning.

“How surprising. May I ask what was not to your liking?” Ariella surprised herself with her equally cool and unwavering tone. Under the surface her mind was racing. How much did this Rensseur know? Did he know things? She had to find out.

“You obviously put a lot of effort into your music. That is excruciatingly clear. But...how should I say this? Your voice? Is terrible. It sounds like a bunch of frogs were smooshed together and forced to croak.”

She gasped a little at the crude comparison. But the description was surprisingly on point. She had never thought of that particular image while hearing herself sing (very few would) but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed apt. She defiantly retorted, “is that so? Don’t you think someone would have told me if I sounded that bad?” She wasn’t ready to give in yet and reveal her true thoughts. This fox needed to prove himself.

“That’s what I was wondering. When you started singing, I was taken aback! Your voice is nothing like any I had ever heard before. I couldn’t imagine what I was hearing was actually you. I looked around and everyone was intensely focused on you. Taking in your music and writing it on their hearts. I thought I was crazy! But then I noticed something.” Her heart skipped a beat. “It was faint at first. I listened harder and harder, measuring every note and phrase. It took me a while, but I am sure of it. You don’t--”

She raised her wing over his muzzle to quiet him. “Not here. My room. 15 minutes. Be discreet.”

“Discretion is my middle name!” The fox chuckled to himself, the hilarity in his eyes reaching a peak. He was undoubtedly proud of himself for discovering the swan’s secret. Well, fine. He deserved it. And Ariella in turn was going to turn him into a confidant.

She quietly blended back into the crowd and took care of the business she needed to attend to before excusing herself to return to her room. The door was slightly ajar. So he was already in. She felt a little violated but knew this was the best way for things to be.

Rensseur was lounging on her couch at ease, staring at the long lit mirror in the room. “I’m glad you’ve made yourself comfortable.” He started to talk but she quieted him once more with a dismissive wave of her wing, turning to close the door. “Yes. I know I sound terrible. It’s something I’ve always known. My journey to this point has been long and strange. You’ll get used to the details in time. But I need something from you.”

The fox’s eyes shone like burning coals. “And what might that be?”

“Your word. Your discretion. And trust.” Ariella paused. “I don’t ask for any of this lightly. I’ve only just met you. You are, however, the only creature that has dared to see past my appearance for who I really am. You have enough sense to not shout it from the trees. Some could say this is foolish of you. I don’t think it is. I think you have a mind to keep secrets, to hold the power that others give you until the time is right. I shouldn’t be sharing most of what I will with you. You will have a great power over me. This is a risk that I choose to take. My power is to give you yours. It might become a burden but I think you are one that is happy to take this on. So, will you answer now? Or will you take time to think? In either case, I await your response.” She regarded him intensely from behind her pure orange beak. There wasn’t anything that he could do with the information that he had now. He would be laughed at. No one would believe him for fear of being laughed at as well. But still she yearned for someone to share more with. Someone who wouldn’t be deceived by her exterior and instead saw her true form.

He sat still under her gaze, making a cute thinking noise. She wouldn’t be disarmed by his demeanor. The silence lasted for several moments. Ariella wasn’t expecting an answer soon. She hoped he would take a good amount of time to think about it. Finally, he spoke.

“I can tell this is something you need. I accept the trust you are putting in me. I will do my best to prove myself worthy of it. I give you my word as a fox. As much as that means.”

“It means about as much as a rat’s droppings. But I will have to be fine with that. And I thank you. You can leave now.” She abruptly dismissed him from the room, knowing that her secret was safe for now. In some way, having another to bare her thoughts and feelings to was thrilling. She was happy to have that outlet available to her. It was something she needed terribly. She had everything else.

Rensseur leapt from the couch and gave a funny bow as he left the room. That cheeky fox. Finally alone, she allowed herself to deflate. For the first time in a while, she felt strangely at ease. Her whole life, it was as if everyone only saw her for the swan that she was rather than the dirty bird underneath. She hated it. She sang and sang, waiting for the day that someone would crack through her shell and be able to see her true self. She hid nothing but no one saw her. Until now. Ariella preened herself, thinking of the new life that was possible for her. A life where she could finally stretch her wings and let someone peek beneath her flawless veneer. And see the black juice within.

END