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FANTAISIE-IMPROMPTU

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PROLOGUE

"Ann? Ann?" She can hear someone calling her vaguely, but...

She just cannot tear her eyes away from him.

"Ann!"

She is mesmerised, like a cobra trapped by the haunting music of its charmer's flute. Her gaze traces the perfect contours, over the slightly aquiline nose, the high cheekbones- seemingly non-existent, until he smiles; those eyes, hooded slightly by double eyelids and dressed with long, curling lashes that looked as though they were robbed off of a traditional china doll.

"Ann! I'm talking to you, Ann! Hello?"

But what makes her most disbelieving of the fact that he is human, and not a seraphim in disguise are those lips, the upper lip a perfect bow shape, and the lower being thin at the edges, but flares out and gathers in the middle to form a curved arc.

"Hello. Ann Tamborse!"

Her reverie is broken as he turns to his left abruptly, obscuring her perfect view of that unblemished, achingly beautiful face.

The loss leaves her feeling strangely empty.

"What?" She blinks at her friend, a long-haired beauty who is forever obsessing about her weight, blind that she is to the fact that a little plumpness only accentuates her Renaissance-esque looks. "What did you say, Selena?"

Her friend rolls her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder reflexively. Her gaze is unwillingly attracted to the luxuriantly straight tresses- She has touched them but once before, and the feeling of rippling, sweet-smelling silk left her almost weeping with desire.

But Selena is her friend.

She cannot want. Will not want. Should not want.

"Ann!"

"Yes." She jerks upright, her attention riveted upon the annoyed expression stamped upon the other's features. "Yes, what were you saying?"

"What is up with you today? You're acting... funny, and your attention keeps drifting!" The face across her is twisted with petulance, still gorgeous, however- despite the expression and tiny asymmetrical mistakes that only nature can claim credit for.

"I'm sorry, I just..." She fumbles, and suppresses the urge to glance towards her right- at him- again.

"Never mind," A hand is waved, the ivory skin flushed with the pinkness of health, looking every bit plump and desirably soft, as she knew it to be, and topped by a quietly tasteful solitaire diamond ring. "I just wanted to remind you that you're turning your steak into a bloody mess."

She looks down obediently, and indeed, her raw steak is ripped; her knife, guided by her hands, had ripped slanted lines into the meat without her being consciously aware of it.

"Oh. Oops." She lets go of the cutlery suddenly, shocked by her loss of control, shocked by the betrayal of her hands.

She stares at them, at the pale blue veins criss-crossing ever-so-faintly beneath the translucent skin, at the brutal cut her nails just received last night, and at the long, graceful tapering of her fingers that got her recognised as The Pianist at The Royal Academy of Music, the University of London.

The length of her fingers are the obvious which people usually infer to and guessed correctly that she is a pianist, or less accurately, a surgeon.

And they are restless again.

"I have to go." She pushes away from the table and gets to her feet, ignoring Selena's protestations. She yanks the strap of her tattered backpack that was previously sitting at her feet, and grimaces as a clank is emitted from its depths. "I'm late. Professor Sarkissova wants me to tutor a freshman in Chopin's Étude Opus 10, Number 1. Seems like the boy doesn't know how to use his arms to get the broken chords correct."

Selena blinks, and murmurs, "Do you realise that you're speaking Martian to me?"

"Sopranos." She forces herself to shake her head in mock-disgust, and waving a hand at her friend, she exits the cafe they were in hurriedly- but not without turning her head to look at him for one last time.

He really is beautiful.

Unbeknownst to her, her fingers curl slowly into each other, not unlike the gathering of its pale legs of an albino spider to gain potential energy that will be converted to strength and momentum as it leaps.

Taking a deep breath, she links her traitorous hands behind her back tightly, before striding down the street.

But try as she might, she cannot ignore the feeling of desperate want.

She wants that face.

Very much.

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A/N: Hello! I've finally began to post here again at last.

I've been working on this one for about tow weeks, and it has four parts in total, inclusive of the Prologue; with the main three -parts, that is- entitled Prelude, Zenith and Nocturne.

And yes, I've always been a big fan of Chopin. It shows, doesn't it?

You see that little button there? Go on, press it; you know you want to... (Review.)