“The wood is flotsam washed ashore from Braka, the quality too low to be sold to people with money. It doesn’t burn properly. Atsa...” She hesit...ted, and then decided to go on, “Atsa, what happened back there? You ran as if possessed by a demon, straight to the Lady’s temple. How did you know it was there? And why did you stay inside for so long? I’ve warned you about intruding on the Lady’s realm.”She was asking questions I’d been asking since my audience with the goddess of death had. Fun motifs and little thrilling trills are not enough. Your fingers fly over the ivory. The cute moans become an unstoppable flow. Roars and profanity. "Fuck me, oh...Fuck me !" But still the bliss finds syncopes and interstices to swirl pleasure into the music. The instrument obeys now, craves for more.You pound the keys, the hammers pound the felt. The Steinway shouts through its gag. A beast howling and gnawing its restrains. Behind the curtains, you can hear the sound of a tongue pushed. More

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