At our latest Sultry Scribes meeting, we wrote onto slips of paper, a noun, an adjective, and an emotion, then dropped those words into separate bowls. Each person then ‘lucky dipped’ to choose her own three words, all of which had to appear somewhere in her story.
My words were diffidence, violin and beautiful.
Diffidence trembled through Camilla as she stretched a hand toward the violin resting haphazardly on a shelf amidst a jumble of other discarded treasures. The old wood shone with the burnish of long use over many years. How much of the world’s beautiful music had flowed from its strings? How often had a musician held it against their breast in a loving embrace?
The occasional quiet knock and murmur of conversation echoed around the hushed ambience of the antique store. The smell of old wood and by-gone years settled like a presence in the cluttered space.
She ran her gaze over the imperfect surface of the instrument, searching for the marks that would identify it as the one she sought. Where the neck met the body, a blob of blue, aged to amber, and a dent shaped like a crescent moon just below it, spoke in silent affirmation. A surge of trepidation burned through her.
She reached a careful hand and turned the price tag. Her heart lurched against her ribs.
Could she afford to buy it?
A shiver twisted across her nerves.
Could she afford not to?