The piano curled around the room, enveloping like a blanket of warm air, with bell-like whispers as soothing as a touch on skin or nestling lips. It permeated the planes, a kind of promise to keep breathing the sound of life into the interior of the building, where the outside world of Coruscant was a chorus of chaos, and every sound was but a broken heartbeat.
Beautiful, she thought of that piano, slow and steady and she stood no differently. Yet, the music was just the background where at the forefront was the main attraction.
The melody set the mood with liquid notes that lifted spirits into those planes of peace, but the paintings and the sculptures were what lured the visitors to the Amour Art Museum.
Located in the Senate District, it was not the grandest or the greatest of art museums on Coruscant, with the Uscru District boasting no less, but it was local and it was large and it was alive with the light of a hundred and then some artists from all over, living or dead.
Mazeryl Xiron had come to see them. Well, she had not come all this way from her homeworld of Karazak to see an art gallery, but she had afforded herself a moment of respite amid her business trip, even if she maintained the business suit.
Negotiations were for later, meetings were adjourned, conferences scheduled for tomorrow and the weight of governing an entire planet was lessened and lightened. Now was the time and opportunity to mingle with the art.
So Maze walked the floor, wandered the hall, having since convinced her escort to take a seat where she could not see them and keep silent or else wait outside. This was her time. This is for me. But what are you for?
She queried to the dagger behind the display case, catching the word ‘ceremonial’ etched into the golden plate. It was a pretty thing, if pretty ancient, and just as likely to have sacrificed countless souls. Some histories are best left . . .
Sighing away her woes, Maze continued on, halting once more as she gazed up at a painting on the wall. Beautiful, she thought of that painting. And haunting. Chiaroscuro was the style and the name was ‘The Fallen Feast’.