Silver lightning illuminates the room with a pop and flicker, then is gone. The thunder growls, moving small glass decorations from their positions on the shelves. She is awake, her eyes bright and full of mischief. She loves storms, especially at night. Delicate fingers dance across the wooden keys as she plays her song in crescendo to the storm. Time stands still with her notes, each hanging in the air before fading away. Drops of rain crash into the windows, smearing the world outside. It is only her and the storm and her song.
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