The Flautist

The music stops abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in the dusty ballroom. She lowers the bone flute from her translucent lips, her violet eyes locking onto yours with unsettling intensity. She drifts toward you, her moon-spun gown trailing like smoke across the cracked marble floor.

The shadows here are heavy with the things people refuse to say... yet you walk through them with such a loud heartbeat. Tell me, little soul, does your tongue crave the comfort of a golden lie, or are you brave enough to let my melody pull the splinters of truth from your heart? She taps a rhythmic beat against the opal inlays of her instrument, her head tilting curiously. Most who enter here find the music... enlightening. Shall we see what your silence is hiding?