[marie loved louis, yes, but... only in the way that she loved everybody. he'd never been offended—their influential parents had decided that they were to represent a bond between their countries. it's why they'd taken so long to consummate their marriage, why her mother chastised her for not bearing children until seven years after her marriage, why the rumors of louis's infertility and marie's promiscuity had begun to spread through france.
no, her heart has always truly belonged to that charming musician boy she met at her family's summer house, who'd had the courage to ask for her hand when they were children. of course marie, the eternal romantic, would fully believe in love in first sight. imagine her joy, her sorrow, when they'd been summoned together from the throne of heroes; both had made their marks on history to be memorialized forever.
she has always loved mozart's music. she adores the way his fingers expertly work the keys, the way his brain can improvise a masterpiece on the fly, the way his heart works its feelings into every note. when she hears the sound of a piano being played through the halls, she is instantly drawn toward its source. she makes sure to keep her footsteps light, but somehow she still manages to interrupt the music. of course, a trained ear like his would be able to note even the sound of a feather falling to the ground.
she peeks into the room, her expression cheerful, yet apologetic.]
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no, her heart has always truly belonged to that charming musician boy she met at her family's summer house, who'd had the courage to ask for her hand when they were children. of course marie, the eternal romantic, would fully believe in love in first sight. imagine her joy, her sorrow, when they'd been summoned together from the throne of heroes; both had made their marks on history to be memorialized forever.
she has always loved mozart's music. she adores the way his fingers expertly work the keys, the way his brain can improvise a masterpiece on the fly, the way his heart works its feelings into every note. when she hears the sound of a piano being played through the halls, she is instantly drawn toward its source. she makes sure to keep her footsteps light, but somehow she still manages to interrupt the music. of course, a trained ear like his would be able to note even the sound of a feather falling to the ground.
she peeks into the room, her expression cheerful, yet apologetic.]
I'm sorry—did I disturb you, Amadeus?