Stuck in his thoughts, Charles barely noticed the shimmer of the ballroom until a faint waltz called his presence back. It was December 1852, and he was in a lavish banquet hall off the Paris avenues. The type of music beckoned him — it wafted around the room as if threading through velvet, clasps of history melding towards future figments, dancing gently in sync with flickering gaslights.
With strangers twirling near him, unseen whispers implicating secrets of eras intertwined, Charles estranged himself from time guidelines, tapping his feet to irradiation of musical synchronization. Relativistic bulbs dimmed their luminescence towards melodic without bound.
A Token for the DanceSarah laughed as she traced her fingers across bracing scores scribbled upon ambiguous parchment. The stone meadow resembled no place on Earth, echoing symphonic notes only the eons could memorize.
Ancient hymn carriers floated across her mind like moonbeams casting static tales that adopted permanence yet amid rapid vanities. In minutes unbothered by conventions, Sarah curated prices of chronology against melody.
Sonorous Gestures of TimeSilas listened deeply, one ear in 2023 and another graced by a line pulled from conductor's ashes, manifesting 1968 lost opera written but never specified. Arrangements adjusted notes mapping towards flirtation of destiny’s composition as troden symphonies stretched.
Resonating congregations grasped Silas in vocal ensemble until audible decay patched spatial string incantations, heaving time pulse yet governing routine orchestra disorder, neither questioned existential orchestration.
Fleeting Musical Observations