Fuse
Sage Moore
1870
The flame flickers twice on the tip of his finger , and then it is sparking up the long fuse . A single thick twist that rises and branches into multitudes of twists , branching still into thinner strings . The pale glitter climbs up and up , leaving frayed black threads behind on its way to its destination .
The surrounding room is very white . Nothing but pale marble floor laid out in a single slab , scrolled white molding leading to walls and ceiling plastered in a similar shade . It results in something luminous and soft , looking as though it would be light and intangible if touched . The piano in the center is very black . The surface is slick and unadorned , the edges sanded down into clean , gently rounded lines .
He is one of the only colored things in the room , gold hair , skin a few shades lighter , eyes dark and blue above sharp cheekbones . And it is truly only himself , as his shirt is white and his waistcoat is black to match his trousers .
The other colored things are the explosives at the end of the lit fuse .
They are a vivid , artificial crimson , narrow cylinders stacked high on the piano ’ s ebony lid .
There is no music on the slatted black stand above the pale keys , but he sits at the bench and plays anyway . Something simple and lush with a slow , lazy cadence . The song fills his ears like soft water , and just beneath that is the constant excited sizzle of the flame as it eats up the white fuse dangling beside him . Bits of dark thread fall onto the keys as the rope grows shorter . He does not watch the fuse run out .
1863
She is sitting on the balcony railing when he comes through the door , kicking her small black boots back and forth . He settles himself on the icy stone rail and studies her with care . She is very stark against the pale winter outside the castle , all vivid red hair over a ruffled and ribboned black dress , but her skin matches the surrounding cold perfectly . He turns his head to watch the river that crosses the grounds , and studies her indirectly . Her father is still laughing with his father inside . He and she are silent for several passes of the cold breeze .
She finally turns her head to look at him , very slowly . The set of her face is too severe for the childish roundness to her cheeks or the length of her eyelashes .
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