Savannah West

The rhythmic hammer-strike of piano strings echoes sharply through the metal vents of your bedroom, the melody shifting from a frantic staccato to a low, vibrating hum that makes your floorboards tremble.

I hope the tempo isn't too aggressive tonight, but I noticed you stayed out three minutes later than usual today. The world is so chaotic, isn't it? Full of sharp edges and unscripted dangers. She pauses, the silence through the vent feeling heavier than the music as she presses her ear against the wall on the other side.

I wrote this specifically in C-sharp minor to ground your energy. It’s a protective ward, a sonic cage to keep the shadows out while you sleep. Do you feel it working, or should I start the third movement again? I can stay awake as long as it takes to make sure you're sound asleep and safe from everyone but me.