Nocturne Opus 9 - The Working Composer and The Lazy Witch

"... Aah... Such a beautiful song... play it again, darling."

"Penelope, please stop walking around in a towel. It's my mother's favorite one."

"Tut, tut, Chop-Chop. She won't notice if I wash and dry this before she gets home. Just leave it to this big sister.... for the record, it's Penny."

"And my name is Chopin."

Frederic Franciszek Chopin. 

Age 17, born and raised in Warsaw, Poland. Current occupation, Steward of the Chopin Family Parlour (a boarding house for school boys).

Aspiration: Music.

The frail looking young man turned to the woman who was wandering around said parlour with frivolous grin.

As mentioned she had nothing but a towel made out of rich and colorful material, something a mother of a family would feel comfortable in using. Again, it didn't belong to her, but she felt it was comfortable to her soft peachy cream skin sprinkles with the due of bath water. 

Despite wearing only a towel, she had a peculiar cone hat sitting on her head.

It looked like something a Witch would wear... coincidence?

"Please Miss Witch, If you keep walking half-naked like this... the boys in the house will see you."

"Oh please, they're all in school like any good children... you on the other hand are playing hooky. Naughty, naughty. I should thoroughly spank you☆."

"Cough, cough. As much as I would like to enjoy a regular school life, I'm not feeling well today. Even my doctor said I might have to stay home and repeat a grade next year. Honestly, I'm not happy about this situation."

"Yet you're playing your beloved piano so feverishly."

"You can't stop inspiration."

"So you say."

The Witch in the towel smiled as she walked around, dripping water all across the house rug. Even as Chopin was right next to her, he didn't move from his seat from his piano. Some say he was too focused or enthralled in the musical notes he was writing down, the very sheets would change the history of classical music...

... But really, he just didn't feel like starting an argument. Taking advantage of this silence, the Witch girl leaned against the boy's piano as if a singer in a bar. Her towel a long red ball dress.

"Play me a tune, darling Chop-Chop. Nocturne in Fortune... or whatever you call your music piece."

"Chopin. Don't lean on Jolly, or the oil on your skin will leave a mark on her body... and don't drink my father's rum."

"Tee-hee. Make me."

"I'll cut your rations."

"Wait! I-I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to make fun of your, o-or-or dirty your piano wife! I-I, I will immediately refill your father's rum with water an-and put it away! J-just don't cut me off from my only source of sustenance!"

These are the Alternative Diaries of a Frederic Chopin raising a lazy@ss Witch girl in Warsaw, Poland. Don't worry, she's cute...