[I]Kotori[/I] - [I]Moonlight Sonata[/I]

The day began as she always preferred it to: quietly. With only a slight stir from her slumber, the young teacher heard the sound of her weary salvation, the pitched chirp of her coffee maker starting up automatically with the timer she had set.

While such providence brewed in her kitchen, she herself would slowly stride towards her shower. Buttons would come undone, pajamas and undergarments would be cast aside as down the distant hallway, the shower would somehow turn itself on as if it were driven by some immaterial force. All the while, each piece of clothing would loft itself into the air, only to be guided by an invisible hand which set them down into their hamper.

By the time she descended into her shower room, the tiled floors would be slick with moisture, and the mirror covered by the haze of steam. Dissapearing into the mist, Kotori would eventually emerge cleansed in both body and mind for the day.

Then maneuvering towards a dresser, she quickly snagged a comfortable, tan turtleneck sweater for the crisp morning, and then a simple pair of tightly fit blue jeans. On came black lace before them, and a pair of deep azure sandals shortly thereafter.

Straightening the luxurious length of her long black satin hair with a brush, a light application of makeup, and a hint of deep crimson lipstick after would arrive before the rounded rims of her half-moon spectacles. A final glance over herself in the mirror would be met with a self affirming nod as she then departed in the earliest hours of the morning.

Plucking up a small briefcace off polished hardwood with one hand and slinging a purse over the opposing shoulder, she then began her daily trek to work. She was a teacher after all, so the salary wasn't too grandiose. Her other faculty compatriots oft inquired as to why she walked and took the bus when she could fly, and her response was simple: she liked the exercise, and she liked to watch people.

A snap of a door shutting, and a jingling of keys to secure it brought the little Songbird out into the day, with a cup of hot invigorating coffee in hand. Always busy, her streets seemed to be, with vehicles jostling down the uneven road at seemingly all hours, accompanied by the bustling market acrost the street. Tightly gripping her briefcase, she then simply strode quietly to the nearest bus stop, which was only a block distant. 

Biting at her lungs, the chilling morning air ran through her, and she seemed to simply embrace it. She loved the cold, the way it bit always brought a sense of sharpness for the day, and once she arrived at the Bus Station, a book came from her briefcase as she waited, as deep eyes of crimson observed closely as it was propped open to where she had left off.

A shocking turn in Edgar Allen Poe's classic short story: [i]The Fall of the House of Usher[/I]. A grim tale that told of a brother, obsessed over the love of his sister, and how it wrought his undoing.

She became lost in such a book, only to be jarred abruptly from it by a distraction in the form of squealing bus brakes. Tucking the book beneath her arm, she simply boarded the bus, paid her fare, and sat somewhere in the middle of it all.

There, as the boxy vehicle rumbled along its haphazard route, she watched people. An elderly man with a sagely grin, a mother and her impatient child, a pair of teenagers exchanging mischievous whispers with the occasional glance in her direction, and many more. 

As the day grew brighter, the little Songbird arrived at her destination. Smoothly transitioning from her seat, she seemed to glide with perpetual grace away from the bus and across the open grounds. Light footsteps upon cobblestone marked her pace as with subtle intention, she made for where she was due to teach.

Winding hallways and beams of sunlight passing through stirred dust broken by intermittent window supports decorated her path, offering glimpses of the outside world and all of its beautiful greens and chaos, until at last she stood before a hardwood door.

A jostling of keys once more brought the heavy creek of door to open, and shortly revealed a grand piano in the middle of a floor, and an arc of seats that faced stands for sheet music.

Without hesitation, she made for the large instrument in the middle of the class, and there she she sat once the bench was placed for her liking. A heavy click marked the protective cover of the keys, and her fingertips lightly brished across pieces of ivory that seemed bereft with a worn antiquity.

But in fact it were from many hours from which she would play.

A slow, melancholy tune began then. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata in C Minor, as the young teacher left the door invitingly, waiting for her students to arrive and begin the day.