Vaggie didn’t object in the end, only saying:
“Just as long as you don’t overpromise.”
“Why don’t we wait until I’ve finished playing to decide?
How does that sound?”
“Right now?”
Moon didn’t say another word, turning to head downstairs.
Charlie snapped out of it and followed immediately.
Vaggie stared at his back for a moment, clicked her tongue, and chased after them.
The group returned to the lobby.
Husk was still there, listlessly wiping the same glass with a rag.
Angel was sprawled on the sofa, playing with a melted eyeliner pencil.
Seeing the crowd rush down, Niffty also scurried out, clutching a massive feather duster.
Ignoring everyone, Moon walked straight to the upright piano in the corner.
The lacquer had mostly peeled off, the corners were chipped, and a faint ring from a cup sat on the lid.
He lifted the lid, the hinges creaking.
Angel spoke first.
“You’re not actually going to do this, are you?”
Moon glanced back at him.
“Of course.
The statement was so artistic that no one knew how to respond.
Moon sat on a wooden crate he had pulled over, his back straight.
He lifted his hands and pressed a few keys.
The piano was out of tune.
The bass was muffled.
A few middle keys felt sluggish, carrying the friction of old wood.
“Can you even play that?” Vaggie raised an eyebrow.
“Barely,” Moon replied.
“Luckily, it’s not dead yet.”
Husk snorted from behind the bar.
“Spoken like a real sophisticated type.”
Moon didn’t respond, letting his hands fall.
As the first note rang out, the stagnant air of the lobby was sliced open by the melody.
It wasn’t the distorted roar common in Hell, nor was it the decadent music designed to lure one into sin.
the piano notes were like water, simple broken chords that sounded like night rain tapping against a window.
There was no complex technical display, no grand narrative—only a purity of silence that was almost transparent.
This piece had never echoed in Hell before.
The cold melody felt like moonlight flowing in from another dimension, carrying a gentle sense of detachment as it slowly filled the lobby.
Every note spoke of loneliness, yet within that loneliness was a wordless comfort.
Charlie had wanted to say something, but after the first few bars, she closed her mouth.
Her hands clasped together unconsciously, and even her breathing grew lighter. The source of this chapter is novelping.com.
Vaggie stood nearby.
She had intended to nitpick—the tuning, the farce of him sitting on a crate—but the words never left her lips.
Leaning against a banister, she listened to the steady, unhurried sound spread.
The tension that had been coiled tight in her chest actually began to loosen.
It even made her hallucinate memories of the days before she fell.
Those images had long been shattered, but now the melody seemed to be piecing them back together, bit by bit.
Angel slowly sat up.
He didn’t make any smart-aleck remarks or throw out quips; he just listened quietly.
The irritability he hadn’t quite managed to suppress was smoothed out by the music.
Behind the bar, Husk poured another shallow drink.
He didn’t gulp it down as usual, but swirled the glass, his brows relaxing with the rhythm.
“Not bad,” he muttered under his breath.
Moon didn’t pay attention to their reactions.
He focused on the dance across the black and white keys.
This so-called “negative space” was a release of the past, a quiet observation of the present, and an uncertain tenderness toward the future.
When the final note dissipated into the air, leaving a long, lingering resonance…
A strange silence fell over the lobby.
No one moved, no one made a sound.
It seemed they all wanted to linger a bit longer in this dream called Negative Space.