Chapter 6: The Solo

The last few weeks of school before winter break were especially exciting for children. Snow in the forecast, Christmas themed decorations lining the walls, holidays just around the corner, and the buzz of the annual Christmas choir performance.

But before the show came the audition.

It was a very important event in the academy, giving it almost as much weight as the performance itself. The choir would sing a selection of traditional carols, but there would be one major piece that included a solo verse, and that soloist part was awarded by audition.

Naturally, whoever earned that coveted position would be in the limelight.

It created a competitive atmosphere among ambitious parents, watching like hawks for a chance to one up each other. It was as if all those music lessons for their children they invested in would pay off only if their child won the soloist part.

Akane wouldn’t audition. No one expected her to, nor did she care about such things. She was content simply being a shadow in the back row of the audience and nothing more.

Corvina, on the other hand, would. Not to impress, but because she was simply expected to. It was a family tradition. Her older brothers - Leandro and Elias Umbrae - won the soloist part every year when they were students at this very academy. Corvina was to follow in their footsteps.

But more importantly, her mother would be attending the show.

Her daughter’s performance would be a reflection of her upbringing. Of her.

—

Rehearsals had begun. Since she wasn't taking part, Akane had no reason to be anywhere near the music room. She was only there at the start to part ways with Corvina and at the end to meet up with her.

They hadn't had much time to hang out since rehearsals started. Most of Corvina’s free time at school was spent cooped up in one of the music rooms for solo practice in preparation for the audition. It made her feel a little lonely… not that she'd ever admit that to anyone, not even to her friend. But she knew this audition was really important for Corvina.

She could tell from the way she tensed every time it came up. The way her hands trembled almost imperceptibly whenever the teachers mentioned her mother would be attending.

So she kept herself busy exploring the academy, finding new quiet little hideaways and catching wind of secrets exchanged in hushed tones by people that either didn’t notice or didn’t care about her presence.

That’s how she heard the teachers whisper, low and nervous.

“Dahlia Umbrae called again.”

“About the costume change?”

“No, about the lighting. Again.”

“She’s… very particular.”

“She sponsors the winter banquet, you know. And over half the music wing.”

“I heard she once made a teacher cry over a missed note in rehearsal.”

“Really? I had no idea she was so… cold. She always seems so poised.”

“It’s just a rumor. She may act perfect in public, but they say she’s actually vicious.”

Some of it didn’t make sense to Akane, but she could read fear when she saw it. These adults were walking on eggshells around Dahlia Umbrae… Whispering about her in a mixture of admiration and unease.

Clearly, a woman like that didn’t get told no. And that woman was Corvina’s mother.

A fact that made Akane feel a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She understood better now, why Corvina had to dedicate herself to rehearsal so wholly. Why her hands trembled whenever Dahlia was mentioned. And why she spent more time at school than at home.

She was still lost in thought thinking about what kind of person Dahlia Umbrae was when she found herself walking past the music room.

That’s when she first heard it.

Corvina’s voice.

Clear as crystal. Gentle as snowfall. Smooth as a rose petal.

It made Akane halt in her tracks. She pressed a hand to the cold metal frame of the door, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Verses of Silent Night resounded through the door, steady and soft.

She’d never heard anything like it.

It wasn’t how perfect it was that got to her. It was how… honest it sounded, like a part of Corvina that didn’t know how to lie. She wasn’t singing for the limelight, or duty, or tradition.

This was a girl who was singing in earnest. For someone else.

And that made something ache deep within Akane because she lied constantly. Every shrug that showed she didn’t care. Every glare that warned people not to come closer. Her grumbling and her silence. She lied through her teeth.

All of a sudden she heard someone snicker behind her. She turned around and saw some older girls - the type she couldn’t stand. They were whispering behind cupped hands.

“She’s just performing again.”

“Her mother must’ve bribed the choir director.”

“It’s too pretty to be real.”

“She’s so fake it hurts.”

Like a match that was lit, Akane’s temper flared in the blink of an eye. She didn’t even think before she growled, “Say that again.”

The girls freezed. Then their ringleader sneered. “What, are you her guard dog now?”

“No,” Akane replied, eyes narrowed and teeth a little bared. “I just don’t like the sound of cowards.”

The ringleader took a step back, then she huffed and rolled her eyes. “This is stupid. Let’s go, girls.”

The gang of girls left before things got uglier. A wise move.

—

During recess the next day, Corvina found Akane on top of the staircase leading to the music rooms, hunched over and hugging her knees.

“I heard about what you said to those girls yesterday.”

Akane didn’t look at her. “You upset?”

“No,” Corvi said softly. “Not at all.”

Akane shrugged like it was nothing. “They’re just scared and jealous of you. That’s why they suck up to you and hate you at the same time.”

“I know,” Corvi replied. “But you didn’t have to do anything. And you still did.”

At this, Akane looked up, and their gazes locked.

Something unspoken was in the air between them, then. Something protective and untested until now. And for the first time, Corvina saw it in Akane’s eyes: the instinct to shield someone, even if it meant drawing blood.

The moment passed when Corvina moved to take a seat next to Akane. Their shoulders brushed against one another. Neither girl moved away.

“Thank you, Akane.”

Akane looked away, flustered. “It’s nothing.”

Corvina smiled faintly, after which a comfortable silence settled between them. But after a while she spoke again, softer this time.

“You’ve probably heard what people say. About my mother.”

Akane blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected.

Her friend kept her gaze trained on the polished marble steps ahead. “They say she’s graceful, proud, elegant… Always knows the right thing to say. Always looks perfect.” A pause. “She’s very involved with the school, too. Both my parents are.”

“I heard they own some of it,” Akane piped up. “That’s why everyone’s always flocking around you like bees to a flower. And it’s why they’re scared of you, too.”

Corvina nodded. “You… heard it right. They donate to it and pay for things, like repairs or new furniture. They have the power to change things… and people know it.” Her tone was flat, and her expression, devoid of emotion.

“There are… rumours,” she added, her voice lowering. “The teachers whisper things about how she can be… particular. Controlling. That she watches everything closely. And if you get on her bad side, she’ll make your life difficult in ways that don’t leave a trace.”

Akane raised an eyebrow. “What ways?”

Corvina shrugged her shoulders. “They don’t know for sure. No one does. They’re all too careful to try and find out.”

She drew in a shaky breath. Then, barely audibly, “But… the rumours? They’re true.”

Her knuckles had gone white from how tightly her fingers were curled into fists on her lap.

“She dresses it up as… poise. Discipline. Treating it like something beautiful to be admired. But really, it’s about… following her rules. Doing things perfectly, the way she tells you to. If you don’t-”

She cuts herself off, her breath catching. The seconds ticked by, but time felt like it was crawling as though the weight of the suspense was slowing it down.

“...It’s just better to get it right the first time.”

Akane didn’t ask what happened if you didn’t.

She already knew.

After a while, Akane finally murmured, “She sounds like my dad.”

Corvina glanced at her, surprised.

Akane didn’t say more. She didn’t need to.

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awkward either. It was full of a sense of newfound understanding, as though a door had quietly unlocked somewhere deep inside both of them.

Two daughters. Both raised by someone they feared in different ways.

They didn’t speak for a while after that. Akane was lost in though, ruminating on Corvina’s dedication to practice. The comments about her following in her brothers’ footsteps, how her trembled hands whenever Dahlia was mentioned. She thought long and hard about what it all meant.

Eventually, she asked, “Do you actually want to audition?”

Corvina stiffened. Akane turned to look at her.

“...What I want doesn’t matter.” Corvina’s voice was barely above a whisper, resigned. “I have to.”

Then, just as softly, Akane replied, “I think it matters.”

Corvina’s eyes widened. She met Akane’s steady crimson gaze.

“I…”

Akane stayed quiet, listening.

“I… I do.” Her voice was hesitant.

Then, after a pause, “But not because of the expectations.”

Corvina broke eye contact and mirrored Akane’s posture, drawing her knees up to her chest to hug her legs.

“It’s because my father is going to be there.” Her eyes seemed to light up at that moment, and a small smile spread on her face. It was like watching a flower bloom in the cold.

Akane thought back to yesterday, to what those older girls had said. How beautifully, earnestly, Corvina had sung. How it didn’t feel like the singing of a girl who was trying to perform, but rather, the singing of a girl that wanted to make her father proud.

“Well… He’ll try, he said,” Corvina added, hugging her legs tighter. Her eyebrows bent ever so slightly, but her smile never wavered.

It wasn’t hard to see how fond she was of her father. The small ember of hope that flickered, but never died.

But it was hard for Akane to relate to.

She didn’t know what it felt like to hope a parent would come.

She didn’t have a parent like that.

They didn’t speak again for the rest of recess, but when the bell rang, neither of them moved right away.

Eventually Corvina quietly said “Come on. Let’s go back.”

Akane didn’t answer, but she followed when Corvina stood up.

They walked back inside together shadows overlapping, but they weren’t quite side by side.

—

Ever since the day they talked on the staircase, Akane began showing up at rehearsals. She always sat at the back in the shadows, silent. Her gaze and focus were fixed on Corvina, but she remained attentive to the audience.

Whenever the Umbrae heiress sang, it was always followed by mixed reactions from the rest of the students.

Admiration. Awe. Jealousy. Contempt.

Reactions she now knew Corvina was aware of. But Corvina kept on singing.

If anything, she sang even more in the days leading up to the concert. Not because her mother told her to, but because her father said he’d come. He’d try.

In the end, she won the soloist part, just as everyone expected she would.

Then came the night of the concert itself.

Corvina was dressed in a deep winter blue dress with white stockings. Her hair was styled into a princess crown braid and decorated with a pearl hair brooch her mother had selected for her. Her makeup was done by a professional - soft and natural with a focus on her stunning blue eyes. She looked very much like a snow fairy with how dolled up she was.

She peeked out from behind the backstage curtains. The auditorium was packed. Akane stood by her side, looking very much out of place next to her dressed plainly in her winter uniform.

“Good luck.” Akane didn’t smile, but her expression was gentler than usual.

Corvina turned to face her, opening her mouth to say something. But no words came.

Akane peered at her face. “...What’s wrong? You’re not nervous, are you?”

The young heiress shook her head firmly. “No, it’s just…”

She glanced towards the curtain, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her fingers lightly grasped the fabric of her dress. Something flickered past her eyes. Something uneasy.

“Well, maybe a little because m-mother will be there, but…” She took a deep breath, her gaze settling on her friend’s face.

“He’ll do his best to show up… right?” It was barely above a whisper.

Akane blinked. Then she stood straighter, meeting Corvina’s gaze squarely. “Yeah. He will.”

Corvina’s shoulders sagged by an imperceptible fraction.

Just then, the teacher began rounding the students up. It was time for them to go on stage.

With one last shared look, the girls parted ways. Akane went to take her place in the crowd with the rest of the students that weren’t performing while Corvina took her place on the stage, front and center. Whatever nerves she seemed to have had earlier vanished, despite the sprawling crowd of critical parents and judgemental school kids that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The lights dimmed. The crowd hushed. Then, the performance began.

As the choir sang, Corvina’s eyes kept flicking to the crowd. She scanned the rows and rows of tailored uniforms, luxurious velvet gowns, cashmere coats, and crisp suits, Then her gaze drifted upward to the curved balconies of the VIP booths, where the wealthiest parents sat like royalty. If hers weren’t in the crowd, they’d definitely be up there.

One had its curtains drawn. Two were empty. The third had a couple she didn’t recognize.

No sign of her parents, but that didn’t faze her… yet. Sometimes they were out of sight to avoid unwanted attention. Sometimes they showed up fashionably late.

Sometimes they never showed up at all.

But her mother would never miss the very performance she funded.

And her father said he said he’d try.

Eventually, a spotlight came on above the star of the show. Her hands began to tremble, but she convinced herself it was just the cold. Sweat beaded at her hairline, and her breathing quickened. The lyrics to Silent Night began to slip away like sand through her fingers. Her vision grew unfocused, stomach twisting tightly as she visualized her mother’s look of disappointment.

Then she spotted Akane in the crowd.

Twin pools of ruby red, fixed on her, sharp and steady.

Corvina focused on them. Took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Breathed out. In. Out. Her world was dark behind closed eyelids, but the picture of Akane’s gentler-than-usual expression burned bright in her memory.

“Good luck.”

The choir faded into silence. Corvina opened her eyes. Her hands had gone still.

Then, like a songbird, she delivered her solo with perfection.

Her voice resounded through the auditorium - crystal clear like a still lake at dawn, and gentle as the first rays of sun breaking through after rain. Most audience members closed their eyes to immerse themselves in the music. Others hummed along with satisfied smiles. A few even dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs.

Akane’s gaze remained unwavering. Her attention, undiverted. She couldn’t tear her eyes away even if she tried. Corvina’s singing made her feel the same kind of comforting warmth you’d experience sitting in front of a fireplace on a chilly December evening. It was soothing, like being wrapped in your favourite blanket.

It was beautiful. Just like her.

She almost couldn’t believe this was the same girl whose hands had trembled so subtly only she would’ve noticed.

Because Akane was always watching. Always seeing the nine-year-old girl beneath the expectations.

Eventually the performance came to an end. The applause was thunderous and washed over Corvina like a wave, whose gaze was scanning the sea of people before her once again.

Her parents were nowhere to be found.

Lips pressed tightly together, she moved closer to the teachers that had joined them on stage for the applause, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“Excuse me, but do you know where my parents are?”

“Oh, Corvina! Excellent performance,” answered one. “Your mother is in the control booth. She wanted to make some last minute changes to the lighting… again.”

She looked up at the big black window between the VIP booths. It hadn’t occurred to her that her mother would be there where all the staff supervise the show. There was something so… distant about that fact, like she had been surveilled rather than watched. Not that it came as much of a surprise that her mother would do something like that.

“And my father?” she asked, turning to look at them, her expression carefully neutral.

The teachers exchanged looks she couldn’t read.

“Corvina… I’m afraid your father had a last-minute board meeting. He sent his deepest apologies, and that he made sure to arrange for a recording of your performance.”

The nine year old heiress stood rigidly still.

The din of the applause suddenly felt so far away, like she was hearing it from underwater.

Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of singing and the heat from the spotlights, but her chest felt icy cold.

She didn’t cry. Of course she didn’t. But the light in her eyes did grow dim.

Corvina returned to her place in the middle of the stage.

Like a proper Umbrae, she smiled. And like a perfect daughter, she bowed.

—

After the performance, Akane found Corvina on the steps leading to the roof. Just like last time, she sat hunched with her legs pulled up against her chest, head lowered, her hair curtaining her face. She was still in her stage clothes, though she’d taken off the pearl hair brooch and wiped the lipstick off her lips.

Akane didn’t say anything. She just stood, watching, waiting.

“…He didn’t come.” It was quiet. Empty.

Akane inhaled deeply. Then, she sighed through her nose and sat down beside her friend. She raised a hand, and it hovered over Corvina’s shoulder for several seconds before finally landing on it, light and tentative.

“They said he made sure they recorded the whole thing,” Corvina murmured. “But… It isn’t the same.”

Akane let her hand drop back into her lap. Silence stretched between them.

“You were… really good.” There was a slight waver to her voice, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “He missed out.”

Her words made something unravel in Corvina. Something that had been wound too tightly for too long, held in place by sheer force of will.

Her throat tightened. Her head lowered further until her forehead rested on her knees, just as hot tears welled up in her eyes. Then, her shoulders began to shake.

Akane went still.

It was the first time she’d ever seen Corvina cry.

She’d seen her hurt before, when she fell and scraped her knee down to raw skin. She’d seen her afraid. She’d even seen the cracks in her voice when she spoke about her mother. But never this. Never tears.

Somehow, this hurt more.

For a moment, Akane didn’t know what to do. Not because she was uncomfortable, but because she knew what it took for someone like Corvina to break.

Then, quietly, she inched closer, until their arms were touching.

After what felt like forever, Corvina shifted slowly, leaning into her. There was a moment of hesitation, almost like she was testing the space between them. Then she let her weight rest against her friend’s side, quiet and trembling.

It made Akane’s heart ache.

Because Corvina wasn’t the kind of girl who let herself lean on others. She carried everything alone - her pain, her pressure, her perfect little smiles. She never let them slip.

But she was slipping now.

And she chose Akane to see it.

“Thank you,” Corvina whispered.

Neither girl said another word after that, but the silence they sat in wasn't empty. It was full of all the things they hadn't said yet.

And for now, that was enough.