Liszt was stunned for a moment.
Never expected things to really evolve this way, the Outer Heaven Visitor who passed through the otherworldly gate, plagiarizing tunes from countless light-years away, leaving a final work in a castle on the edge of the East Sea World.
Realizing the fact that he was about to die, he could no longer change it, and having survived since the great fire three years ago, he considered himself already lucky enough. The rightful source is novelFirｅ.net
He placed both hands on the piano keys.
"I have never shown this to anyone, judging from your reaction, these pieces aren’t great. The manuscript written by a beauty might be far more valuable than the work itself; I hope you will preserve it well."
Liszt merely criticized in his mind that this mad woman had no aesthetic whatsoever. A murderer exiled to the East Sea, composing tunes through Heavenly Human Sensing in the sea piracy process, this character script should be a hit, you are so good-looking, but you clearly do not get it at all.
He completely relaxed, no longer had any pressure, no longer playing so-called master classics just for showing off.
A song, widely sung, is not because of sticking to a low-level art circle, but because it evokes widespread, universally existing, the lament of an entire era.
Whether it’s cheesy, pop, or highbrow.
He just casually played, something purely desolate and serene.
The Bird’s Poem, imprisoned in memories, unable to fly even with Sky-Sweeping Wings.
The repressed restlessness morphing into resentment, nearly erupting into rage, was like a subway on its way to spring.
Liszt didn’t know how many more pieces he should play, only until the surging tides of emotions utterly calmed down into lifeless boredom.
City of Music, Midnight Cruise, Lullaby, The best of me
Telling the red-haired woman all the names of the pieces was just Liszt making them up on the spot.
Moonlight poured through the diamond-shaped window panes, winding into a silver galaxy on the piano lid, fingers dancing on the black and white keys, like frost-covered ice waiting for dawn’s break.
The entire piano frame seemed like a waking creature, the trembling copper strings deep inside were its scorching blood, the swaying candle flames stitched the night, recording all the transparent time slipping through the fingers.
The red-haired woman’s hand holding the charcoal pencil felt a bit sluggish.
Until Liszt realized he was an alien, by then his fingers had become somewhat stiff, having killed so many people here in this damned place over and over again, all because of damn interstellar travel.
When the last note fell.
Liszt panted lightly, really damn tired.
"That’s about it, there are many more, but I think they’re not good enough, better not to bring them out to be laughed at. Can I take a look?"
He stood up, walked over to the red-haired woman, pulled out a sheet of music to have a look, to see if this woman truly understood or was just pretending.
Indeed, as she said, her sense of pitch and memory were strong, just playing once she could write out the score.
However, the musical symbols of the Western Continent were totally different from those back home, Liszt scratched the back of his head and couldn’t understand.
Just wanted to take the second sheet to study further.
He didn’t dare to pull the second sheet of music anymore.
"Didn’t you hear me telling you to get out? Hurry up before I change my mind."
The red-haired woman’s hand began to condense a blood-colored energy tide.
Liszt, as if granted amnesty, didn’t utter a single word, truly such a moody mad woman, saying something might provoke her again, didn’t dare to even use the front door, still climbed out the window, agilely landed on the ground from the second floor, then started running for his life, this sinister mad woman was terrifying as hell.
Heading to the hotel where the gang often gathered at light speed, to settle scores with those little buggers.
Meanwhile, in the study.
The red-haired woman let out a light sigh.
Staring blankly at the paper in her hand.
Two hundred years later, such a thing would happen, my god, Dreya, what on earth is going on with you? Do you still think you’re a teen or twenty-something girl?
After pulling away the second sheet of music.
Dreya didn’t even document anything anymore, just sketching portraits and scenes with a charcoal pencil.
She realized she must calm down immediately, forcibly suppress some unstoppable fervor.
Probably because she hadn’t slept for many days, physically able to bear it, but mentally it was unbearable, emotional instability, that must be the reason.
Took a sleeping potion, it didn’t work at all, had to take a stronger one, then slowly fell asleep.
In the surreal dreams...
Pendulums shattering the soft bones of time, the scale of lust caught at the tip of the tongue, all kisses turning into seeds of riot.
Eternal twins, every blossom’s stigma emitting tremors, digging graves for each other with their bodies, going together to a splendid ruinous night.
But everything always leaves oneself first...
Ultimately unreachable.