10 Fall, 511
A song whispered into the brackish air at the cavern’s entrance. It was wordless and yet it navigated over the course of many syllables, each short note woven to the last in a pointed legato. But the narrow corridor smoothed the melody, made it coherent. Only entering into the Blue Grotto would lend the ear a taste of the intended aesthetic. A sweet soprano voice bounced against the walls and reflected from the water, mingling bright new notes with the old and fading ones. It was a musical experiment; it was polyphony.
To steal a peek into the cavern was to behold a girl at the edge of the pool, surrounded by circles of mist and an aura of dense cold. It would not be difficult to avoid her attention. She was leaning over the water and scrutinizing her reflection, completely engrossed in her own voice and the face beneath her own. The hair that drooped around it seemed dry, untouched by the grip of water even as it swayed low beyond the surface. Her hands were bent over her face, as if the thought of glimpsing its entirety was beyond her comprehension.
Eventually she began to include words. Her lips moved swiftly behind that curtain of hair, her eyes locked on the sight of them. “Spider...” she sang in Common, because the word was not insult enough in her native tongue. Then, “Come to me, hunt me, kill me,” through an otherwise pleasant tune, as well as “Love me, find me, save me.” The words were not meant to seduce or even be heard by any other soul; they were only the first that came to mind. She repeated them as inspiration allowed, and as the former predominated over the latter, her little aria turned from bittersweet capriccio to something more languid, more wretched, and more rehearsed.
“This is what a Spider does;
this is what my sadness is; this is my pain;
this is love taken, love lost, and love left unspoken.”
She repeated one phrase, and then the other, and sometimes she combined them. Sometimes she only used the words as the melody saw fit, stringing them together into sentences that were incomprehensible in any language. The words mattered as much as her life did.
Suddenly, she stopped. She might have become bored of her song or disheartened by staring at her own sad expression. More likely, she saw an image in the water, or a ripple sprouted from stirred debris, for she looked up with a start, eyes darting frantically. The last of the echoes dissipated quickly, and then so did she. Like a candle flame beneath the strength of a single breath, she flitted out of sight. The smoke around her followed suit, scattering in an invisible breeze. There was no movement left save for the occasional ripple beneath a dripping stalactite, but that invisible cold remained, like baited breath.