Chord of Dreams

Inside the glass carriage, the violinist played whatever the townspeople ordered: marches for courage, waltzes for romance, lullabies for obedient children. The giant rabbit pulled her from square to square and heard the same secret note trapped beneath every tune. ‘Play the one you keep swallowing,’ he said. She shook her head; unscripted music was forbidden.

Then one night she drew the bow across a string and let the wrong note live. It was rough, frightened and entirely hers. A crack ran through the glass. She played it again.

By dawn the carriage had opened like a flower, and the rabbit was no longer pulling it. They walked side by side while the town argued over whether the sound had been beautiful. Neither of them turned back to answer.