Answer:
I like to start out by saying that you address the most amazing prompts.
Explanation:
Jetta huffed hotly and stormed down the now darkened corridor. The empty hallway parroted the sound of her angry footfalls. She had gone pale, her face bleached with savage contempt, her mind a jumbled mess. The staff had completely demurred anything she´d had to say, even though she was telling the truth. On the other hand, they´d lapped up everything that came out of Vanessa like a litter of puppies. Vanessa. The name brought forth a combination of disgust and resentment. Vanessa, with those tippy-top grades and perfect legs, and perfect face that literally begged to be pummeled. Jetta had seen right through that a few hours ago; Vanessa´s dark side was her only side. Underneath all of that makeup, she was cruel and stark. Just another person who wanted to drive the spike a few inches deeper into her already bleeding heart. The simmering inside her rose to a deafening crescendo as she strode farther into the darkness. It writhed and convulsed, struggling to come out. Jetta inhaled and--
Her thoughts had been shattered by a noise. It was so abrupt that she stopped midstep. It was quiet, but very much there. A note. A series of them. Very quiet. Each one hovered in the air for a while before fading away with its predecessor. A shudder traced its way down her spine. Without any words at all, the music spoke. It spoke of a vast ocean of confusion and disarray. It spoke of a world where the stars shed silvery tears and the wind never blew in the right direction. It spoke of hope.
Jetta´s body moved automatically and she began walking at a cautious pace, as if one wrong move would cause the music to end and she would never find it again. The rhythm was warm and calming and struck chords inside her that she never knew existed. The notes increased in volume. They reverberated through the no longer empty hall and led her to a stop before a partially closed door. A narrow ribbon of light slithered out from the crack. She gingerly nudged the door open and stood on the edge of the threshold. Golden lights bathed the girl when she stepped noiselessly onto the stage. She shielded her eyes and squinted.
The first thing she noticed about the source was not the boy´s auburn hair; it was not the chesnut-colored skin; nor was it the dimple in his cheek as his fingers flowed like water with a practiced ease. It was the energy and warmth that emanated from his very form. The notes fit perfectly together, as if they were pieces on a puzzle; as if they were meant to be.
