He flexed his fingers and shifted nervously. He stroked the keys, drawing a deep, ragged breath as he moved his hands into position. The first notes were soft, tentative, sending dim blue tendrils into the darkness of the sound chamber.
His pulse quickened, notes grew stronger. The tendrils thickened and swirled, the darkness within their coils taking shape. He closed his eyes, desperate to focus on the music, but that coalescing shape tugged at his consciousness.
A face emerged, sound pulsing across delicate features. His chest rose and fell with increasing intensity, and first one note then another fell flat. A discordant clang echoed around the room as the song ended. A set of wave blue eyes opened, lighting the chamber with their residual glow. Symphony awoke.
The Word Worker 