Sina sat very still while Gwin prepared to play the spirit's tune. And for a moment, all was silent.
And then music began to pour forth. Slowly, at first, but with each note the Akvatari's playing grew sweeter, the melody sadder. There were many, many different kinds of songs stored away in Sina's vast library of memory. Some she had composed herself, others she had learned over the years.
But this one...this one struck a chord.
In most children's experiences, if they were lucky enough to have lullabies in their memories, those lullabies fell into one of two categories. Either they were the harmless, gentle, soothing sort--ones concerning soft things and motherly promises--that instilled a sense of comfort and security to its tender listener. Or, they were the strangely dark and morbid sort. The kind that spoke of children being stolen away, of things that lurked in the dark, of terrible tragedy and bitter sacrifices.
Only the gods and goddesses above knew why such tragic lullabies existed. Perhaps there were darker times in this world that produced darker arts. Perhaps some parents believed a little bit of fear in a child's heart would do her good. Whatever the reason, Sina's usually pleasant features suddenly grew lined with knowing. Burdened knowing.
When Gwin finished, Sina said nothing at first. The ghost seemed quieted as well, though for reasons of contentedness or something else it was impossible to determine so soon. After half a chime or so, the shop keeper finally spoke, her voice bearing a hint of sadness at what she was about to divulge. She took a sip of her water before proceeding.
"You play very well, Gwin," Sina smiled, though the sadness had not left her eyes. "Sweetly with a hint of melancholy, and your training goes without saying. I believe you were perfect for the job."
A small pause, then, "That is the last of my good news, however...I know this song, and unfortunately it is not one you or I would likely wish to sing to any child before she slept. There is no formal name for it, but most often I hear it called 'O Weeping Child."
Sina closed her eyes and opened her mouth to sing. The melody was sweeter still sung, but the sadness more palpable than ever.
'O weeping child of pastures green,
From whence have you such sorrow seen?
No mark on you of fleshed wound,
To solve and bury your mournful tune.
'O weeping child of forest old,
Wherefore have you grown half so bold?
To walk alone, no others in sight,
Your greying grief like endless blight.
'O weeping child of city lost,
To whom have you paid life's dearest cost?
Your father thinks he'll find you still,
But your mother knows he never will.
A small shudder ran across Sina's shoulders as the melody died in her throat. "A terrible little song, but beautiful in its own way. A sad way. Unsurprisingly enough, it is one that most of the orphans at the Welcome Home know." The shopkeeper's expression grew thoughtful. "Have you ever visited the Home before?"
At that moment, one of the small hand drums hanging on the walls vibrated where it hung. And then it popped free of its tack and began to fall with silent but alarming speed.
And then music began to pour forth. Slowly, at first, but with each note the Akvatari's playing grew sweeter, the melody sadder. There were many, many different kinds of songs stored away in Sina's vast library of memory. Some she had composed herself, others she had learned over the years.
But this one...this one struck a chord.
In most children's experiences, if they were lucky enough to have lullabies in their memories, those lullabies fell into one of two categories. Either they were the harmless, gentle, soothing sort--ones concerning soft things and motherly promises--that instilled a sense of comfort and security to its tender listener. Or, they were the strangely dark and morbid sort. The kind that spoke of children being stolen away, of things that lurked in the dark, of terrible tragedy and bitter sacrifices.
Only the gods and goddesses above knew why such tragic lullabies existed. Perhaps there were darker times in this world that produced darker arts. Perhaps some parents believed a little bit of fear in a child's heart would do her good. Whatever the reason, Sina's usually pleasant features suddenly grew lined with knowing. Burdened knowing.
When Gwin finished, Sina said nothing at first. The ghost seemed quieted as well, though for reasons of contentedness or something else it was impossible to determine so soon. After half a chime or so, the shop keeper finally spoke, her voice bearing a hint of sadness at what she was about to divulge. She took a sip of her water before proceeding.
"You play very well, Gwin," Sina smiled, though the sadness had not left her eyes. "Sweetly with a hint of melancholy, and your training goes without saying. I believe you were perfect for the job."
A small pause, then, "That is the last of my good news, however...I know this song, and unfortunately it is not one you or I would likely wish to sing to any child before she slept. There is no formal name for it, but most often I hear it called 'O Weeping Child."
Sina closed her eyes and opened her mouth to sing. The melody was sweeter still sung, but the sadness more palpable than ever.
'O weeping child of pastures green,
From whence have you such sorrow seen?
No mark on you of fleshed wound,
To solve and bury your mournful tune.
'O weeping child of forest old,
Wherefore have you grown half so bold?
To walk alone, no others in sight,
Your greying grief like endless blight.
'O weeping child of city lost,
To whom have you paid life's dearest cost?
Your father thinks he'll find you still,
But your mother knows he never will.
A small shudder ran across Sina's shoulders as the melody died in her throat. "A terrible little song, but beautiful in its own way. A sad way. Unsurprisingly enough, it is one that most of the orphans at the Welcome Home know." The shopkeeper's expression grew thoughtful. "Have you ever visited the Home before?"
At that moment, one of the small hand drums hanging on the walls vibrated where it hung. And then it popped free of its tack and began to fall with silent but alarming speed.
I know there may not be much to react to other than more conjectures at this point. Let me know if you encounter any issues!