She took one last look around the house.
It looked bare and unloved now without all the little bits and pieces that dominated the rooms, much like her grandmother's personality had dominated her childhood.
A harsh, cold woman who didn't see a need for empathy or compassion.
Those things only made you weak.
Yet some nights she would wake to hear the strains of Beethoven or Strauss floating through dark and she'd sneak down the stairs to watch as her grandmother sat at the piano.
Alone in the dark with only the light of the moon shinning through the windows, lost in the music she was making.
This soft and tender side her grandmother never let anyone see.
This facade, this side of herself her grandmother kept hidden.
She would never understand why...